"" ;' 


§ 

^ 


MARION  GRAHAM 


HIGHEB    THAN     HAPPINESS" 


META   LANDER 

AUTHOR  OF   "  THE   BROKEN   BUD,"   "  LIGHT  ON  THE  DARK   RIVER,' 
"  THE  TOBACCO  PROBLEM,"   ETC 


BOSTON  MDCCCXC 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

10  MILK  STREET  NEXT  "  THE  OLD  SOUTH  MEETING  HOUSE  " 

NEW  YORK  CHA8.  T.  DILLINGHAM 
718  AND  720  BROADWAY 


COPYRIGHT,  1890, 
BY  LEE  AND  SHEPARD. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


PRESS  OF  .1.  J.  ARAKELTAK, 
H8  AND  150  PEARL  ST. 


TO 

MY  BEST  AND  DEAREST  FRIEND, 

THIS    VOLUME    18    INSCRIBED. 

IT   SHALL   COUNSEL  OR   COMFORT  ANT   STRUGGLING,   SORROWING   HEART, 

OK  AWAKEN  ASPIRATIONS   AFTER  WHAT   IS   NOBLER  THAN  PRESENT 

GRATIFICATION,  —  WHAT    IS   HIGHER   AND   SWEETER  THAN 

KVEN  THE  PUREST  EARTHLY  HAPPINESS,  I  AM  SURE 

YOU  WILL  APPROVE  IT,  AND    I  SHALL  THUS 

GAIN    A    DOUBLE    REWARD. 


2037232 


"  So  find  we  profit 
By  losing  of  our  prayers." 

Shakespeare. 

"  And  I  smiled  to  think  God's  greatness  flowed  around  our  incom- 
pleteness, 

Round  our  restlessness,  his  rest." 

"  Rhyme  of  the  Duchess  May" 


PREFACE  TO  THE  REVISED  EDITION. 


AMID  all  the  evolutions  and  revolutions  of  this  rush- 
ing age  with  its  manifold  problems  in  Social  Science 
and  Theology,  the  eternal  verities  remain.  The  great 
law  of  love  and  service  is  un repealed.  And  with 
service  is  inseparably  interwoven  self-sacrifice,  since 
"the  necessity  for  sacrifice  is  built  into  the  structure 
of  our  being,  and  is  the  birthright,  the  inalienable 
heritage  of  life." 

It  was  this  grand  primal  law  which,  years  ago,  I 
sought  to  illustrate  in  "  Marion  Graham."  With  no 
change  in  the  central  idea,  I  have  made  a  careful  revi- 
sion of  the  book,  hoping  thus,  without  impairing  its 
unity,  to  bring  it  into  closer  touch  with  modern  think- 
ing and  feeling. 

If  I  enter  somewhat  into  theological  discussions,  it 
is  only  in  the  attempt  to  show  the  progress  of  a  soul  in 
its  struggles  against  harsh  dogmas  and  various  miscon- 
ceptions of  God  and  of  truth  into  the  liberty  and  light 
and  love  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ. 

Encouraged  by  kind  friends,  I  now  re-launch  my 
book  on  an  uncertain  sea,  bespeaking  the  patience  of 


6  PREFACE   TO   THE   KEV1SED   EDITION. 

my  readers  and  their  indulgence  as  well.  I  trust  it  is 
not  presumption  to  hope  that  it  may  in  some  small 
degree  help  them  to  understand  that  Christ's  best 
gift  to  us  is  the  blessed  privilege  which  He,  himself, 
so  divinely  illustrated,  —  the  privilege  of  service  and 
self-sacrifice  for  others. 

MARGARET  WOODS  LAWRENCE. 
LINDEN  HOME,  MAKBLEHKAD. 


MARION    GRAHAM. 


CHAPTER   I. 


"  He  said  he  loved  me !    A  sudden,  purple  splendor 

Eclipsed  the  amber  of  the  moonlit  sky; 
The  night-time  music  round  me  grew  more  sweetly  tender. 

Earth  looked  more  beautiful  —  I  know  not  why." 


"  BUT  I  love  you  not  a  whit  the  less." 

"  I  believe  it ;  but  you  are  no  longer  dependent 
upon  me.  It  is  I  that  shall  be  the  loser." 

Bessie  made  no  direct  reply,  for  her  thoughts  had 
strayed  into  another  channel. 

"You  promised  to  tell  me  your  story  long  ago," 
said  Marion,  "and  I  don't  believe  you  will  find  a 
better  time." 

"Perhaps  not,  but  it  is  hard  to  begin."  Hesitating 
a  moment,  Bessie  continued,  "You  remember  that 
long  walk  we  three  took  together.  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  you  so  brilliant,  and  I  was  sure  somebody 
else  thought  so  too." 

7 


8  MARION  GRAHAM; 

«  Well,  after  we  left  you,  there  was  a  pause,  which 
Mr.  Maynard  broke  by  saying, '  Your  Mend  is  a  noble 
girl'  Now,  thought  I,  he  is  going  to  confess.  But  I 
made  out  to  reply, «  She  is,  indeed,  and  the  more  you 
know  of  her,  the  more  you  will  find  it  out'  In  spite 
of  myself,  I  felt  my  hand  tremble  on  his  arm.  He 
must  have  noticed  this,  for  he  pressed  it  closer.  But  I 
never  had  a  thought  that  it  meant  any  thing. 

"  When  we  had  passed  through  the  gate  and  reached 
our  porch,  I  said,  '  Good-night,  Mr.  Maynard ! '  He 
answered,  '  Shall  we  not  sit  here  a  few  minutes  and 
enjoy  this  charming  evening?'  So  we  sat  down. 
« Miss  Vinton,'  said  he, '  I  leave  town  in  a  few  days.' 
This  was  more  than  I  could  bear,  and  the  tears  began 
to  drop.  '  Bessie  ! '  he  had  never  called  me  so  before, 
and  it  strangely  thrilled  me ;  '  will  you  not  let  me 
know  the  occasion  of  your  sadness  to-night  ? '  It  was 
a  hard  question,  but  I  replied,  '  I  was  thinking  how 
very  lonely  I  shall  be,  when  you  take  dear  Marion 
away.'  He  smiled  a  little,  and  then  asked,  '  Will  you 
not  tell  me  with  the  same  frankness,  whether,  in  such 
an  event,  any  part  of  your  sorrow  would  be  on  my 
account  ?  '  I  thought  this  almost  cruel,  and  I  imagine 
my  look  conveyed  as  much,  for  he  did  not  press  for  an 
answer,  but  added,  '  And  who  told  you  that  I  was 
going  to  take  Miss  Graham  away  ?  '  <  Nobody,  but  I 
had  often  fancied  your  heart  was  fettered,  and  to-night 
I  am  sure  ! '  «  And  so  in  truth  it  is,  but  cannot  you 
guess  better  ? ' 

"I  could  not  answer  such  a  question,  but  some- 
how he  made  me  look  at  him,  and  I  suppose  my  eyes 
and  my  blushes  told  him  what  a  foolish  little  heart  I 
have.  But  I  can't  tell  you  any  more  of  that  scene. 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  9 

Only  the  moon  and  a  few  starry  eyes  were  witnesses, 
and  they  never  babble,  you  know.  It  was  the  very 
loveliest  evening  I  had  ever  seen,"  (Marion  found  no 
difficulty  in  believing  this),  "and  the  air  was  fragrant 
with  the  honeysuckles  on  our  dear  old  porch. 

"While  we  were  sitting  there,  what  must  our  great 
clock  do,  but  begin  its  loud  striking,  as  if  to  remind  us 
that  there  comes  an  end  even  to  the  sweetest  things. 
When  it  was  through,  he  said,  '  I  did  not  think  it  was 
so  late.  Shah1  I  go  in  and  speak  to  your  parents  ?  I 
intended  to  go  to  them  first,  but  you  have  somehow 
cheated  me  out  of  my  purpose.' 

"  Stepping  lightly  through  the  hall,  I  opened  the 
door  of  the  sitting-room.  By  this  time,  I  trembled  so 
that  I  could  hardly  stand,  but  I  made  out  to  reach  my 
father,  and  kneeling  at  his  feet,  I  burst  into  tears.  This 
took  Mr.  Maynard  by  surprise  as  well  as  my  parents. 
'  Hoot  toot,'  began  my  father,  '  why,  how  is  this  ?  Mr. 
Maynard,  can  you  explain  these  tears  ? ' 

"  I  don't  know  what  reply  he  would  have  made,  but 
I  could  not  bear  to  have  them  think  me  in  trouble.  So 
I  raised  my  head,  saying,  '  It  is  only  because  I  am  so 
happy,'  and  began  to  cry  again.  Mr.  Maynard  then 
told  them  all  about  it,  and  asked  if  they  could  intrust 
him  with  their  daughter.  Dear  mother  wiped  her  eyes, 
but  made  no  reply.  And  father  kept  blowing  his  nose 
and  trying  to  cough,  as  you  know  he  always  does  when 
attempting  to  hide  his  feelings.  At  length,  seeming  to 
think  he  must  say  something,  he  ventured,  '  I  take  no 
kind  of  exception,  indeed  I  may  say  I  would  as  soon 
give  my  darling  to  you  as  to  any  man  living.  But  I 
want  to  know  what  the  like  of  you  expects  to  do  with 
a  little  girl  who  has  always  been  prtted,  and  is  nohow 


10  MAEION  GEAHAM  J 

fit  for  a  minister's  wife.'  '  I  expect  to  make  her  my  pet, 
sir,  if  you  have  no  objection.  And  as  to  her  fitness  for 
any  thing  she  is  willing  to  undertake,  I  have  no  concern 
on  that  score.'  •  '  Then  take  her  and  welcome,  shan't  he, 
mother  ? '  And  putting  my  hand  in  his,  he  added,  '  It's 
a  little  hand,  but  I  guess  she's  got  a  large  heart.' 

"  As  it  was  now  late,  mother  laid  the  old  Bible  on  the 
stand,  and  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  Mr.  Maynard 
read  and  pray.  I  think  we  all  cried,  he  himself  with  the 
rest  of  us.  But  for  all  that,  my  heart  seemed  ready  to 
break  with  its  happiness.  And  that  night,  I  could  not 
close  my  eyes  to  sleep,  but  there that's  enough." 

"  And  so  you  expect  him  to-morrow,"  said  Marion, 
while  her  arm  lovingly  encircled  the  confiding  girl. 

"  Yes,  dear,  but  I  have  a  great  shrinking  from  the  — 


"  You  may  be  content,  since  it  is  not  from  the  officer" 

Bessie  blushed  brightly. 

"  Mr.  Maynard  says  he  is  very  glad  you  have  at  last 
consented  to  be  bridesmaid,  and  very  sorry  you  persist 
in  declining  to  accompany  us." 

"  See  what  a  flood  of  amber  light  the  sun  has  left  be- 
hind him,"  said  Marion. 

It  was  one  of  those  sweet  June  evenings  when  the 
soul  is  made  drunk  with  beauty.  The  pleasant  arbor,  in 
which  the  above  conversation  had  taken  place,  was  now 
illumined  with  the  rich  sunset  glow,  which  was  brightly 
reflected  on  those  fair  faces.  Although  both  of  these 
young  girls  thus  communing  together  would  have  been 
pronounced  beautiful,  yet  their  appearance  was  strik- 
ingly contrasted. 

As  the  quiet  sky  looked  down  in  benediction,  foot- 
steps were  heard  approaching,  and,  with  a  cry  of  joy, 
Mcssir  sprang  from  hor  sr;it. 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  11 

"  My  own  Bessie  ! "  and,  childlike,  her  arms  were 
thrown  round  his  neck,  and  she  was  folded  in  a  fond 
embrace. 

Mr.  Maynard  had  much  to  tell  her  of  his  situation 
and  prospects,  for  he  had  just  been  settled  over  a  parish 
in  Brentford,  in  the  old  Bay  State.  After  describing 
the  house  he  had  hired,  he  added,  — 

"  It  is  not  a  fit  cage  for  my  bird,  but  you  will  sing 
there  for  my  sake." 

Bessie  knew  nothing  of  inconveniences,  and  was  ready 
to  imagine  it  would  be  pleasant  to  endure  them  for  the 
love  of  her  friend,  and  so  she  told  him.  He  smiled  a 
little  incredulously. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  bear  them  cheerfully,  but 
they  can  never  be  pleasant.  And  I  fear  you  will  suffer 
from  disappointment." 

Every  thing  was  to  her,  however,  bathed  in  rose-light, 
and  she  had  no  idea  how  the  realities  of  life  can  oppress 
even  a  loving  heart. 


MARION  GRAHAM; 


CHAPTER    II. 

"  The  unknown  sea  moans  on  her  shore 
Of  life;  she  hears  the  breakers  roar; 
But,  trusting  him,  she'll  fear  no  more." 

THE  preparations  for  the  bridal  day  had  been  mostly 
completed  before  Mr.  Maynard's  arrival,  and  they  were 
now  enjoying  a  little  nooning  before  it  came  off.  But 
the  hours  flew  on  rapid  wings,  too  rapid  for  Bessie,  for 
her  affectionate  heart  shrank  from  leaving  the  dear  home 
circle.  She  was  just  nineteen,  rather  too  young  to  be 
married,  —  so  she  said,  and  so  they  all  said.  But  Mr. 
Maynard  had  found  it  difficult  to  secure  a  good  board- 
ing place,  and  the  upshot  of  it  all  was,  he  thought  there 
were  important  reasons  for  a  speedy  consummation  of 
his  wishes  ;  and  he  had  a  wonderful  faculty  of  persuad- 
ing people  to  his  mind. 

Wednesday  was  the  appointed  day,  and  on  Tuesday 
friends  and  relatives  arrived  from  different  directions, 
and  little  ones  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  were  hugging  and 
kissing  Bessie  to  their  heart's  content 

Long,  that  night,  did  the  young  girl  sit  at  her  win- 
dow, after  the  household  was  wrapped  in  sleep.  Voices 
from  her  far-off  childhood  came  tremulously  to  her 
heart,  stirring  its  hidden  fountains.  And,  out  of  the 
dim,  distant  future,  saddening  whispers  stole  over  her. 
innocent  pleasures,  forever  past,  were  blended  with 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  13 

grave  images,  that  seemed  beckoning  her  on.  Life  lay 
spread  out  before  her,  so  earnest,  so  serious,  that  she 
trembled  to  advance.  Must  she  leave  gathering  bright 
pebbles  from  the  singing  brook,  to  contend  with  angry 
billows  on  the  tossing  ocean  ?  And  who  can  supply  to 
her  the  place  of  her  father  and  her  mother  ? 

Then  an  image  silently  rose  before  her,  and  the 
warmth  returned  to  her  heart,  and  the  color  to  her 
cheek.  The  deep,  joyous  consciousness  of  loving  and 
being  beloved  calmed  her  unquiet  spirit,  and,  clasping 
her  hands,  she  softly  breathed,  — 

"  Whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go." 

When  the  eventful  morning  peeped  in,  a  kiss  of  sun- 
shine awaked  her.  Going  below,  she  found  her  father 
sitting  alone,  gazing  pensively  out  of  the  window. 
She  came  softly  behind  him,  and  as  he  leaned  back  in 
his  chair,  she  kissed  him  on  the  forehead,  murmuring, 
"  Dear  father !  "  But  seeing  him  take  out  his  handker- 
chief, she  ran  away,  to  encounter  Maurice,  who  pre- 
sented her  with  a  bouquet,  fragrant  and  glistening  with 
dew,  but  who  ventured  not  a  word.  When  Bessie  saw 
his  swimming  eyes,  she  could  no  longer  control  her 
feelings.  Just  then,  a  hand  gently  took  her's,  and 
looking  up,  she  met  a  face  so  full  of  tender  affection 
and  concern,  that  she  reproached  herself,  and  shaking 
her  curls,  said, — 

"  It  is  only  an  April  shower." 

But  the  shower  was  not  yet  over,  and  drawing  her 
arm  within  his,  he  led  her  away  into  a  quiet  corner. 
Nor  did  he  suffer  her  to  leave  him,  till  he  saw,  by  her 
unclouded  smile,  that  the  comfort  he  administered  had 
taken  effect. 

Marion  came  after  breakfast,  and  well  was  it  for  all, 


14  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

that  it  was  a  busy  day.  There  was  the  cutting  of  cakev 
the  arranging  of  flowers,  the  prosaic  packing  up,  ana 
all  that  bustle  of  preparation  inevitable  on  such  occa- 
sions. 

Bessie  was  as  busy  as  the  busiest,  but  in  the  after- 
noon, happening  into  her  mother's  chamber,  she  found 
her  with  her  work  in  hand,  but  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
She  threw  her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  kissing  her 
again  and  again,  thanked  her  for  her  increasing  kind- 
ness, and  asked  forgiveness  for  all  her  waywardness. 
As  if  that  mother  had  aught  written  down  against  her ! 
But  poor  Bessie  was  like  a  rose  at  early  dawn,  of 
which  the  slightest  touch  scatters  dew-drops  on  the 
ground. 

And  now  the  lamps  are  lighted,  and  the  company 
begins  to  assemble.  Bessie's  toilet  is  completed,  and 
she  stands  thoughtfully  by  the  window.  A  plain  white 
muslin,  trimmed  with  white  ribbons,  a  delicate  rose-bud 
on  her  bosom,  and  another  among  her  glossy  curls,  with 
the  bridal  veil  flung  over  her  head  —  this  is  her  simple 
attire.  But  never  could  there  be  a  fairer  bride,  at  least 
so  thought  William  Maynard,  as  he  came  to  usher 
her  into  the  presence-room. 

How  that  heart  fluttered,  and  how  that  little  hand 
trembled  upon  his  arm!  And  well  might  this  be.  It 
is  no  light  matter  to  cross  the  bridge  from  girlhood  into 
womanhood,  —  to  leave  a  sure  haven  for  an  untried 


"  Hear'st  thou  voices  on  the  shore 
That  our  ears  perceive  no  more, 
Deafened  by  the  cataract's  roar?" 

We  have  all  been  at  weddings,  and  therefore  we  all 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  15 

know  how  everybody  is  on  the  look-out  for  the  entrance 
of  the  bridal  party. 

"  What  a  beauty  the  bride  is !  I  declare  I  never  saw 
her  look  so  handsome." 

"  Nor  I ;  but  the  bridegroom  is  a  match  for  her." 

"  Miss  Graham  makes  a  fine  bridesmaid." 

"  Yes,  she  has  the  air  of  a  queen,  and  I  never  saw 
young  Mr.  Vinton  look  so  well." 

"  It  seems  strange,  though,  to  see  him  waiting  on 
a  lady.  I  don't  believe  he  ever  did  such  a  thing 
before." 

"  I  suppose  he  couldn't  help  himself  in  the  present 
case." 

But  we  have  not  yet  introduced  that  ruddy  old  gen- 
tleman, with  long,  silvery  locks,  and  wearing  small- 
clothes. That  is  the  minister,  Mr.  Morton.  How  rev- 
erently he  spreads  his  hands,  "  Let  us  pray  ! "  None  of 
your  railway  weddings  this  !  All  the  services  have 
length,  as  well  as  unction. 

The  young  couple  were  married  leisurely,  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way.  And  it  did  everybody  good  to  hear 
Mr.  Maynard's  fervent  "I  do,"  and  Bessie's  gentle  but 
decided  response  to  the  questions  of  the  venerable 
minister. 

After  the  knot  was  tied,  the  presentations  ensued. 
Old  Mr.  Vinton,  noticing  that  his  wife's  eyes  were 
tearful,  went  up  alone,  saying  that  he  dared  not  trust 
himself  in  her  company,  "lest  they  should  make  a 
pretty  scene  of  it  together."  Mr.  Morton,  therefore,  led 
up  Mrs.  Vinton,  and  then  the  company  followed  pro- 
miscuously, the  little  ones  making  themselves  very  free 
with  the  bride. 

During  all  this  shaking  of  hands,  and  curtsying  back 


16  MARION  GRAHAM; 

and  forth,  Judy  stood  outside  the  door,  alternately 
wiping  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her  white  apron, 
and  smoothing  it  down  again.  It  was  now  time  for 
her  part  of  the  entertainment,  so,  withdrawing  to  the 
kitchen,  she  soon  reappeared  with  her  loaded  tray. 
Bustling  up  first  to  the  bride,  as  in  duty  bound,  Bessie 
gave  her  a  smile,  which,  as  she  said  afterwards,  "  e'ena- 
most  took  the  strength  clean  out  of  her."  She  made  a 
motion  as  if  for  the  corner  of  her  apron,  but  casting 
her  eyes  upon  her  tray,  she  desisted  and  bravely  drove 
back  the  rebel  tears.  Good  justice  was  done  her  han- 
diwork by  the  company  in  general.  But  at  length 
everybody  was  satisfied,  and  Judy  got  nothing  but 
shakes  of  the  head.  Then  she  sat  down  in  the  kitchen, 
and,  in  the  ears  of  her  eager  listeners,  rehearsed  the 
events  of  the  evening. 

"  It  beats  all  natur  a  seein'  how  de  quality  eats  cake. 
But  I  knowed  dey  would,  cause  ye  see  it's  fust  rate. 
But  I  an't  got  de  heart  to  touch  a  crum  on't.  I'll  try 
to  take  a  bite  though,  cause  it's  hern. 

"  Did  ye  eber  see  nudder  sich  a  sweet  bride  ?  I  tell 
ye  de  young  minister  tinks  a  power  on  her.  Ye  see 
arter  dey  were  through  de  performances,  and  were  done 
up  strong,  and  eberybody  was  eatin',  he  jes'  led  her 
into  dat  leetle  room  o'  hern.  Den  he  sot  her  down  on 
dat  affair,  whar  dey  allers  sit  togedder,  and  tinkiii'  no- 
body see  'em,  he  sez,  sez  he,  « Now,  it's  my  turn.'  Oh, 
but  ye  should  ha' seen  him  a  puttin'his  arms  round  her, 
and  a  kissin'  her,  till  her  cheeks  were  as  red  as  two  roses. 
Den  he  puts  a  ring  on  her  dainty  finger,  and  kisses  dat 
too.  But  arter  a  while,  he  sez,  jes'  as  if  he  didn't 
wanter,  <  Now  we  must  go  back,  afore  dey  miss  us.' 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  17 


CHAPTER    III. 

"  Long  in  its  dim  recesses  pines  the  spirit, 

Wildered  and  dark,  despairingly  alone; 
Though  many  a  shape  of  beauty  wander  near  it, 

And  many  a  wild  and  half-remembered  tone 
Tremble  from  the  divine  abyss  to  cheer  it, 

Tet  still  it  knows  that  there  is  only  one 
Before  whom  it  can  kneel  and  tribute  bring, 
Yet  be  far  less  a  vassal  than  a  king." 

IT  was  a  sad  hour  at  the  farm-house  when  Bessie 
departed.  All  the  company  left  on  the  same  day,  and 
amid  gay  but  fading  garlands,  and  the  various  scat- 
tered reminders  of  the  late  festivity,  reigned  a  silence 
almost  like  that  of  death.  Old  Mr.  Vinton  sat  in  his 
arm-chair  by  the  window,  without  a  single  endeavor  to 
conceal  his  sadness.  And  Mrs.  Vinton,  with  her  knit- 
ting-work, sat  meekly  beside  him,  not  venturing  a 
word,  but  feeling,  as  she  privately  told  Judy,  that  "  it 
would  be  a  relief  if  Mr.  Vinton  would  make  his  wonted 
attempts  to  cough  away  his  emotion."  Old  Judv 
heartily  responded  to  this,  — 

"  For,"  said  she,  "  to  see  him  a  sittin'  so  drownded  in 
trouble,  pears  like  Miss  Bessie,  bless  her  heart,  was  jes' 
dead  and  buried." 

"  It's  real  good  to  see  ye,"  said  Judy,  meeting  Marion 
at  the  door  soon  after  supper.  "  But  somehow  ye 
brings  up  fresh-like  her  dat's  gone,  poor  ting." 


18  MARION  GRAHAM  ; 

As  Marion  entered  the  parlor,  Maurice,  who  was 
looking  over  a  newspaper,  placed  a  chair  for  her  beside 
his  mother,  and  withdrew  to  a  window.  Observing  the 
air  of  gloom  that  pervaded  them  all,  she  began  to  talk 
of  Bessie,  presenting  the  bright  side  of  every  thing,  till 
they  yielded  to  her  cheering  influence. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  count  on  her  tetters,"  said  Mrs. 
Vinton,  placing  a  note  in  her  hands,  which  she  had 
found  in  her  drawer,  after  Bessie's  departure.  "  I 
haven't  dared  to  show  that  to  her  father  yet,"  she 
added,  nodding  significantly. 

"  To  my  precious  father  and  mother,"  repeated 
Marion,  glancing  at  the  superscription.  "  Shah1  I  read 
it  aloud,  Mr.  Vinton  ?  " 

"  You're  welcome  to,  if  you  have  the  heart." 

"  I  think  I  can  succeed,  at  any  rate  I  will  try." 

When  she  had  finished,  Mr.  Vinton  set  his  foot  de- 
cidedly on  the  floor,  saying,  — 

"  The  child  that  wrote  that,  is  as  good  a  child  as  ever 
grew,  or  my  name  an't  Vinton." 

And  with  this  effort,  he  began  to  cough  vigorously ; 
a  token  that  the  crisis  of  his  gloom  was  past 

On  the  table  beside  Marion,  lay  several  books.  Tak- 
ing up  one,  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  Goethe  in  German ! "  and  turning  towards  Mau- 
rice, she  added,  « I  congratulate  you  on  your  enjoy- 
ment" 

"It  is  one  I  should  be  happy  to  share  with  you, 
Miss  Graham,"  said  he,  moving  towards  her. 
'  I  am  not  qualified  for  such  a  pleasure." 
"  But  can  be,  I  suppose." 
"  I  fear  it  is  beyond  my  reach." 
"Not  at  all  so,"  replied  he,  with  more  earnestness 


OK,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  19 

than  she  had  ever  seen  in  him.  «  I  have  heard  my  sis- 
ter speak  of  your  desire  to  study  German,  and  have 
thought  of  offering  my  assistance,  if  it  could  be  of  the 
least  advantage.  I  hope  you  will  not  deem  me  obtru- 
sive, if  I  do  so  now." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  she,  cordially  ;  "  such  assist- 
ance would  be  most  "acceptable." 

"  My  books  are  at  your  service ;  shall  I  call  with 
them  this  week  ?  " 

"  If  convenient." 

"  A  strange  event  to  happen,"  thought  she,  as  she 
slowly  retraced  her  steps. 

And  now,  we  owe  it  to  our  readers,  to  give  some 
account  of  this  same  Maurice  Vinton.  The  only  son 
of  the  family,  he  had  been  early  adopted  by  the  bache- 
lor uncle  for  whom  he  was  named,  —  a  physician  who 
lived  in  Leyden,  a  pleasant  town  on  Lake  Champlain. 
He  was  a  man  of  wealth  and  oddities,  and  having  for 
a  long  time  given  up  practice,  he  had  built  a  handsome 
house  in  a  charming  seclusion,  a  mile  or  two  out  of  the 
village.  There,  provided  with  the  best  of  house- 
keepers, and  an  extensive  library,  he  lived  many  years 
with  the  child  of  his  affections,  lavishing  upon  him 
every  thing  that  heart  could  desire. 

Maurice  had  always  been  a  peculiar  child,  and  his 
isolated  life  did  not  tend  to  make  him  any  more  like 
others.  Confined  almost  entirely  to  the  society  of  his 
uncle,  and  the  noble  dead,  his  natural  reserve  increased 
upon  him.  Every  year  he  spent  a  few  weeks  with  his 
parents,  but  always  returned  willingly  to  his  seclusion. 
His  uncle  having  fitted  him  for  college,  he  graduated 
with  the  highest  honors  of  his  class,  but  without  one 
particular  acquaintance,  "  haughty  as  Vinton,"  being  a 


20  MARION    « 18V  HAM  : 

common  phrase  with  his  classmates.  He  had  subse- 
quently studied  medicine  with  his  uncle,  completing  his 
course,  and  receiving  his  diploma  at  Philadelphia. 

Not  six  months  after  his  return,  his  uncle  died,  leav- 
ing him  sole  heir  to  his  large  estate.  In  that  house  of 
death  he  had  spent  three  months,  when  he  determined 
lo  comply  with  the  entreaties  of  his  parents  and  Bessie, 
;tnd  for  a  time  make  his  father's  house  his  abode.  So, 
leaving  the  trusty  housekeeper  in  charge  of  his  estab- 
lishment, he  returned  to  the  home  of  his  childhood.  His 
parents  had  become  accustomed  to  his  quiet  ways,  and 
did  not  expect  him  to  be  like  other  people.  He  was 
always  respectful  towards  them,  and  he  showed  his 
fondness  for  Bessie  in  a  hundred  silent  ways. 

As  Marion  had  always  been  his  sister's  most  intimate 
friend,  he  had  occasionally  met  her  at  his  yearly  visits, 
but  no  apparent  progress  had  been  made  in  their  ac- 
quaintance. Marion  was  not  wanting  in  pride,  and  his 
extreme  coldness,  never,  even  after  a  year's  absence, 
going  further  than  a  respectful  bow,  had  thrown  her 
upon  her  dignity.  Sometimes,  when  she  thought  of  his 
fine,  intellectual  face,  and  his  manly  bearing,  for,  with 
all  his  reserve,  he  was  everywhere  the  thorough  gentle- 
man, the  thought  had  stolen  upon  her,  "  What  a  pity 
he  is  such  an  iceberg !  "  An  iceberg,  Marion !  If  Ve- 
suvius is  an  iceberg,  when  her  volcanic  fires  are  smoth- 
ered within  her  bosom,  then  is  Maurice  Vinton  an 
iceberg.  From  his  calm  exterior,  none  would  conjecture 
the  burning  soul  within.  "  There  is  a  secret  self  that 
hath  its  own  life, '  rounded  by  a  dream,'  unpenetrated, 
unguessed." 

In  spite  of  Marion's  pique,  she  held  him  in  the  high- 
est respect,  and  was  more  nattered  by  his  recent  offer 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  21 

of  assistance,  than  she  would  have  been  by  the  homage 
of  a  dozen  ordinary  men. 

Though  Maurice  Viriton  had  received  his  medical 
degree,  he  had  no  thought  of  becoming  a  practitioner. 
With  all  his  vigorous  powers  and  his  high  cultivation, 
he  was  but  a  dreamer,  and,  though  not  wanting  in  be- 
nevolent impulses,  he  did  not  deem  it  incumbent  on  him 
to  seek  out  ways  of  doing  good.  Having  said  thus 
much,  we  must  leave  him  to  develop  himself. 

During  the  week,  he  called  on  Marion  with  the  books, 
inquiring  when  he  should  come  in  and  assist  her. 

"  I  forewarn  you,"  said  she,  "  that  you  must  consider 
me  a  regular  pupil." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  But  I  shall  insist  upon  it  as  a  condition  of  my  ac- 
ceptance of  your  kindness." 

"  I  will  not  begin  by  quarrelling  with  you,"  replied  he, 
smiling.  And  taking  up  the  German  Grammar,  "  Here 
then  is  your  first  lesson." 

Having  thus  formally  assumed  the  relationship  of 
teacher,  he  left  her,  making,  she  thought,  as  brief  a  call 
as  was  consistent  with  politeness. 

At  length  the  appointed  hour  for  the  recitation  ar- 
rived, perhaps  equally  desired  and  dreaded  by  both. 

"  Very  little  idea,"  soliloquized  Maurice,  "  has  Miss 
Graham  of  the  struggle  my  proposal  has  cost  me.  How 
shall  I  be  able  to  control  myself  in  her  exclusive  pres- 
ence ?  " 

And  Marion  mused  after  this  wise, — 

"  Shall  I  ever  learn  to  feel  at  home  in  the  society  of 
the  only  gentleman  who  keeps  me  somewhat  in  awe  of 
him?" 

As   she   had   an  artistic  taste,  she  had  taken  pleas- 


22  MARION  GRAHAM; 

ure  in  fitting  up  a  little  room,  adjoining  the  parlor, 
which  she  called  her  boudoir.  Here  were  her  books 
and  her  guitar,  and  here  hung  a  few  choice  engravings, 
among  which  was  a  Madonna  and  Raphael's  Transfig- 
uration. Upon  a  rose-wood  table  stood  her  escritoire, 
a  vase  of  fragrant  flowers,  and  a  few  books  and  maga- 
zines, while  in  one  corner  of  the  room  was  a  well-filled 
secretary. 

In  this  boudoir,  on  the  expected  evening,  she  sat,  a 
little  more  agitated  than  she  would  have  cared  to  admit. 
The  bell  rang,  and  Mr.  Vinton  was  ushered  into  the 
parlor,  but  Marion  appeared  at  the  door,  saying,  — 

"  Will  you  venture  into  a  lady's  sanctum  ?  " 

"  Without  the  smallest  objection,"  said  he,  casting 
around  a  look  of  pleased  surprise. 

Seated  in  an  arm-chair,  he  took  the  Grammar  which 
Marion  held  out  to  him. 

"  This  is  a  new  business,  but  I  will  endeavor  to  sus- 
tain the  dignity  of  my  office.  You  may  repeat  the  let- 
ters, if  you  please." 

"  Ah,  bay,  tzay,  day,"  and  she  went  through  the  alpha- 
bet with  commendable  correctness.  With  the  sounds 
of  the  letters,  she  had  more  difficulty,  but  succeeded  ad- 
mirably with  the  articles,  verbs,  and  accompanying 
phrases.  She  was  obliged  to  struggle  a  little  with  em- 
barrassment, but  on  the  whole  made  out  better  than  her 
fears. 

"  When  you  have  finished  the  verbs,  I  think  we  can 
take  up  Schiller." 

"So  soon?" 

"  Judging  from  my  own  experience,  that  is  the  best 
way." 

"  But  there  are  so  many  idioms  of  which  one  knows 
no  thing." 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  23 

"  You  learn  their  meaning  from  their  frequent  recur- 
rence, and  thus  get  along  as  by  magic." 

He  soon  departed,  leaving  Marion  dissatisfied  with 
him  and  with  herself.  After  the  same  formal  manner, 
passed  two  or  three  succeeding  recitations.  She  would 
resolve,  in  spite  of  his  coldness,  to  be  more  social,  only 
waiting  for  the  next  opportunity  to  break  her  resolution. 
It  was  by  slow  degrees  that  he  made  any  revelation  of 
himself ;  yet,  with  every  interview,  Marion  became  more 
convinced  that  there  was  that  in  him  which  she  had 
never  dreamed  of  finding  there. 

"  Ah !  Carlyle's  French  Revolution,"  said  he,  after 
one  of  their  lessons,  at  the  same  time  taking  up  the 
book. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  attempting  to  read  it." 

"  And  cannot  you  accomplish  it  ?  " 

"  The  pictures  are  very  graphic,  but  I  have  no  fancy 
for  so  foggy  a  style." 

"  Have  you  read  any  other  of  his  works  ?  " 

"  He  certainly  is  trying  to  condescend,"  thought  she, 
"  and  I  will  surely  go  half  way  to  meet  him." 

"  I  have  read  '  Sartor  Resartus,'  and  I  think  with  bene- 
fit as  well  as  great  pleasure." 

"  I  have  never  happened  to  read  that,  but  what,  on 
the  whole,  pleases  me  better  than  any  thing  else  of  his  I 
have  seen,  is  a  Review  of  Lockhart's  Burns  in  the  Ed- 
inburgh." 

"  I  have  the  Journal,  but  I  have  never  noticed  that 
article.  Do  you  recollect  in  what  volume  it  is  ?  "  And 
opening  the  secretary,  she  pointed  to  the  long  row  on 
its  shelves. 

"  It  is  in  one  of  the  early  volumes,  I  believe,"  and  he 
took  down  one  of  them.  «  Here  it  is  —  No,  96." 


24  MARION  GRAHAM; 

Turning  over  the  pages,  he  suddenly  turned  towards 
her  with  a  searching  glance,  and  inquired,  — 

"  Are  you  an  admirer  of  Burns  ?  " 

"  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  convicted  of  heresy,"  replied 
she,  smiling,  «if  I  own  that  I  am." 

"  Do  you  dare  to  be  so  ?  "  he  repeated  with  earnestness. 

"  Since  you  seem  determined  to  play  the  inquisitor,  I 
will  answer  frankly.  I  do  dare  to  cherish  a  warm  ad- 
miration for  him  and  for  Byron  also,  yet  I  often  re- 
proach myself  for  it,  knowing  what  fearful  moral  wrecks 
they  were." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  moral  wreck,  Miss  Gra- 
ham ?  " 

"The  same  that  you  mean,  I  presume,"  answered 
she,  looking  at  him  with  the  half  suspicion  that  he  was 
quizzing  her. 

"  Will  you  not  express  your  meaning  ?  " 

Blushing  at  his  earnest  gaze,  she  replied,  — 

"  I  mean  that  they  miserably  perverted  their  exalted 
genius,  and  sinned —  I  shudder  from  thinking  how  fear- 
fully, against  their  own  souls." 

"  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  may  you  not  be  in  dan- 
ger of  doing  them  injustice  ?  Here  is  something  to  the 
point" 

In  a  deep  voice,  he  read,  — 

"  The  world  is  habitually  unjust  in  its  judgments  of 
such  men.  It  decides,  like  a  court  of  law,  by  dead  stat- 
utes, and  not  positively,  but  negatively,  less  on  what  is 
done  right,  than  on  what  is,  or  is  not  done  wrong.  Not 
the  few  inches  of  deflection  from  the  mathematical  or- 
bit, which  are  so  easily  measured,  but  the  ratio  of  these 
to  the  whole  diameter,  constitutes  the  real  aberration. 
This  orbit  may  be  a  planet's,  its  diameter,  the  breadth 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  25 

of  the  solar  system  ;  or  it  may  be  a  city  hippodrome ; 
nay,  the  circle  of  a  gin-horse,  its  diameter  a  score  of  feet 
or  paces.  But  the  inches  of  deflection  only  are  meas- 
ured ;  and  it  is  assumed  that  the  diameter  of  the  gin- 
horse  and  that  of  the  planet,  will  yield  the  same  ratio, 
when  compared  with  them. 

"  Here  lies  the  root  of  many  a  blind,  cruel  condemna- 
tion of  Burnses,  Swifts,  Rousseaus,  which  one  never 
listens  to  with  approval.  Granted,  the  ship  comes  into 
harbor  with  shrouds  and  tackle  damaged  ;  and  the  pilot 
is  therefore  blameworthy,  for  he  has  not  been  all-wise 
and  all-powerful;  but  to  know  how  blameworthy,  tell 
us  first,  whether  his  voyage  has  been  round  the  globe,  or 
only  to  Ramsgate  and  the  Isle  of  Dogs." 

Marion  did  not  speak,  but  her  face  wore  such  a  glow 
of  pleasure,  that  Maurice  continued  to  read  here  and 
there  a  passage. 

"  Alas !  his  sun  shone  as  through  a  tropical  tornado  ; 
and  the  pale  shadow  of  Death  eclipsed  it  at  noon  ! 
Shrouded  in  such  baleful  vapors,  the  genius  of  Burns 
was  never  seen  in  clear,  azure  splendor,  enlightening  the 
world.  But  some  beams  from  it,  did,  by  fits,  pierce 
through  :  and  it  tinted  those  clouds  with  rainbow  and 
orient  colors  into  a  glory  and  stern  grandeur,  which  men 
silently  gaze  on  with  wonder  and  tears !  He  was  often 
advised  to  write  a  tragedy  ;  time  and  means  were  not 
lent  him  for  this,  but  through  life  he  enacted  one  of  the 
deepest.  We  question  whether  the  world  has  since  wit- 
nessed so  utterly  sad  a  scene  ;  whether  Napoleon  him- 
self left  to  brawl  with  Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  and  perish  on 
his  rock '  amid  the  melancholy  main,'  presented  to  the 
reflecting  mind  such  a  spectacle  of  pity  and  fear,  as  did 
this  intrinsically  nobler,  gentler,  and  perhaps  greater 


26  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

soul,  wasting  itself  away  in  a  hopeless  struggle  with 
base  entanglements,  which  coiled  closer  and  closer  round 
him,  till  only  death  opened  him  an  outlet." 

"Destiny,  —  for  so  in  our  ignorance  we  must  speak, 
—  his  faults,  the  faults  of  others  proved  too  hard  for  him  ; 
and  that  spirit  which  might  have  soared,  could  it  have 
walked,  soon  sank  to  the  dust,  its  glorious  faculties 
trodden  under  foot  in  the  blossom,  and  died,  we  may 
say,  without  ever  having  lived.  And  so  kind  and  warm 
a  soul ;  so  full  of  inborn  riches,  of  love  to  all  living  and 
lifeless  things,  —  what  trustful,  boundless  love,  what 
generous  exaggeration  of  the  object  loved  !  It  is  mov- 
ing to  see  how,  in  his  darkest  despondency,  this  proud 
being  still  seeks  relief  from  friendship  ;  unbosoms  him- 
self often  to  the  unworthy,  and  amid  tears,  strains  to  his 
glowing  heart,  a  heart  that  knows  only  the  name  of 
friendship.  And  yet  he  was  quick  to  learn  ;  a  man  of 
keen  vision,  before  whom  common  disguises  afforded 
no  concealment.  His  understanding  saw  through  the 
hollowness  even  of  accomplished  deceivers,  but  there 
was  a  generous  credulity  in  his  heart.  And  so  did  our 
Peasant  show  himself  among  us ;  a  soul  like  an  jEo- 
lian  harp,  in  whose  strings  the  vulgar  wind,  as  it  passed 
through  them,  changed  itself  into  articulate  melody. 
And  this  was  he  for  whom  the  world  found  no  fitter 
business,  than  quarrelling  with  smugglers  and  vintners, 
computing  excise  due  upon  tallow,  and  gauging  ale- 
barrels  !  In  such  toils  was  that  mighty  spirit  sorrow- 
fully wasted,  and  a  hundred  years  may  pass  on,  before 
another  such  is  given  us  to  waste." 

The  subject,  so  full  of  interest,  together  with  the  ear- 
nest  pathos  of  the  reader,  painfully  affected  Marion. 

"  You  will  think  me  weak,"  said  she,  "  but  certain  as-1 
pects  of  life  fill  me  with  gloom." 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS. 


27 


"  I  do  not  consider  it  weakness,  Miss  Graham.  An 
observer  of  the  least  sensibility,  cannot  fail  to  be  thus 
affected.  I  only  wonder  that  any  fall  short  of  misan- 
thropy. 

1  But  life  will  suit 

Itself  to  Sorrow's  most  detested  fruit, 
Like  to  the  apples  on  the  Dead  Sea's  shore, 
All  ashes  to  the  taste.'  " 

There  was  an  indescribable  melancholy  in  his  tone  as 
he  repeated  these  lines,  and  when  he  had  ended,  Marion 
could  not  speak.  With  wonderful  facility  he  immedi- 
ately changed  the  subject,  and  conversed  with  so  much 
animation  that  she  soon  regained  her  self-control.  And 
not  only  so,  but  she  was  unconsciously  borne  far  in  the 
opposite  current.  While  listening  to  the  humorous  de- 
scription of  his  intercourse  with  the  people  of  Saginaw, 
a  town  on  the  sea-coast,  her  clear  laugh  rang  out  again 
and  again.  Thus  had  she  never  before  seen  him.  Had 
he  assumed  the  magician's  wand,  or  was  he  now  first 
revealing  himself  ? 


MARION   GRAHAM 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  And  as  the  full  moon,  spectral,  lies 

Within  the  crescent's  gleaming  arms, 
The  present  shows  her  heedless  eyes 
A  future  dim  with  vague  alarms." 

AFTER  what  had  passed,  Marion  expected  there  would 
be  less  constraint  between  her  and  Maurice  at  their  next 
meeting.  But  she  was  disappointed.  At  the  com- 
mencement of  the  recitation,  he  was  as  distant  as  she 
had  ever  known  him,  and  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
remain  unaffected  by  his  cold  reserve.  Gradually,  how- 
ever, it  wore  away,  and  before  the  hour  was  over  she 
felt  the  charm  of  his  social  mood. 

"  So  you  have  been  reading  this  review  of  Burns," 
said  he,  opening  the  Journal,  and  noticing  her  pencil- 
marks  along  the  pages. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  you  for  the  feast 
I  have  enjoyed.  I  should  not  have  imagined  that  Car- 
lyle  could  write  such  pure  Anglo-Saxon." 

"  His  early  writings  are  comparatively  free  from  those 
abundant  compounds,  and  seeming  affectations,  that 
mark  his  later  ones.  But  vitiated  as  his  style  has  be- 
come  by  these  faults,  he  is  hardly  surpassed  in  vigor  ol 
thought  and  terseness  of  expression." 

"  I  have  never  read  any  thing  of  his,  and  scarcely  of 
any  writer,  with  more  unmingled  delight  than  this  Re- 
view of  Burns." 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  20 

"  I  am  happy  that  we  agree  in  our  estimate  of  the 
essay.  I  should  like  to  see  what  passages  yon  have 
marked,"  and  he  turned  over  the  leaves. 

"  Do  you  remember  your  quotation  from  Byron  the 
other  evening  ?  "  inquired  Marion  with  some  hesitation, 
uncertain  whether  he  would  like  the  allusion. 

"  I  see  you,  at  least,  have  not  forgotten  it,"  replied  he 
turning  towards  her. 

"  I  have  not.  And  while  reading  that  article  I  marked 
a  passage,  which,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  a  fair  reply  to  it, 
by  showing  how  both  Byron  and  Burns  mistook  the 
true  end  of  life." 

And  taking  the  volume  which  he  held  out,  she 
found  the  passage,  which  she  requested  him  to  read 
aloud. 

"  So  you  mean  I  shall  convict  myself,"  said  he  with 
a  smile. 

"  I  should  like  to  convict  you  on  that  point  certainly, 
for  the  view  of  life  you  presented  is  so  full  of  gloom  that 
I  would  fain  hope  it  is  untrue." 

"  To  you,  Miss  Graham,  may  the  sad  picture  never 
become  a  reality  !  But  I  will  read  :  — 

'  We  become  men,  not  after  we  have  been  dissipated 
and  disappointed  in  the  chase  of  false  pleasure  ;  but 
after  we  have  ascertained  in  any  way,  what  impassa- 
ble barriers  hem  us  in  through  this  life,  how  mad  it  is 
to  hope  for  contentment  to  our  infinite  soul  from  the 
gifts  of  this  extremely  finite  world  ;  that  a  man  must  be 
sufficient  for  himself;  and  that,  "for  suffering  and  en- 
during, there  is  no  remedy  but  striving  and  doing." 
Byron,  like  Burns,  is  not  happy ;  nay,  he  is  the  most 
wretched  of  men.  His  life  is  falsely  arranged  ;  the  fire 
that  is  in  him  is  not  a  strong,  still,  central  fire,  wanning 


30  MARION   GEAHAM  ; 

into  beauty  the  products  of  a  world  ;  but  it  is  the  mad 
fire  of  a  volcano ;  and  now,  —  we  look  sadly  into  the 
ashes  of  a  crater,  which,  ere  long,  will  fill  itself  with 
snow.' 

"  Here  is  a  brief  comment  respecting  Burns,  which 
you  have  also  marked.  As  you  will  probably  cite  it,  in 
your  endeavor  to  convict,  if  not  convince  me,  I  may  as 
well  read  on :  — 

'  He  swerves  to  and  fro  between  passionate  hope  and 
remorseful  disappointment ;  .  .  .  and  to  the  last,  cannot 
reach  the  only  true  happiness  of  man,  that  of  clear,  de- 
cided activity  in  the  sphere,  for  which,  by  nature  and 
circumstances  he  has  been  fitted  and  appointed.' " 

Laying  down  the  book  he  said  gravely,  — 

"  So  you  condemn  me  in  toto." 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Vinton.  I  was  simply  unwilling  to 
have  you  rest  in  what  seemed  to  me  a  very  melancholy 
opinion,  to  say  the  least." 

"  I  understand,  and  I  thank  you  for  your  attempt  to 
set  me  right.  But  I  fear  I  may  prove  an  obstinate  case, 
Miss  Graham.  However,  I  will  summon  no  more  weird 
presences  by  attempting  to  argue  the  matter.  Besides, 
I  have  no  desire  to  convert  you  to  my  creed." 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  fully  believe  it  yourself?  " 

Affecting  not  to  hear  her,  he  took  up  a  volume  of 
British  Poets  that  lay  upon  the  table,  and,  turning  it  over 
with  an  absent  ah-,  read  aloud  a  few  lines  from  Spenser's 
"  Fairy  Queen,"  which  suddenly  changed  the  current  of 
thought. 

"  Allow  me  to  ask,  Miss  Graham,  what,  in  your  view, 
constitutes  a  true  poet  ?  " 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  be  so  presuming  as  to  ven- 
ture an  answer  to  such  a  question ! " 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  31 

"  Yet  I  am  sure  you  have  one  in  your  thoughts,  and 
why  should  I  not  have  the  benefit  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  could  assign  the  best  of  reasons,  but,  if  you  will  let 
me  take  that  Review  once  more,  I  think  I  can  find  an 
answer." 

He  smiled  as  he  replied,  — 

"  Carlyle  seems  to  have  preceded  us  on  our  road,  and 
set  up  his  guide-boards  all  along.  I  would  have  pre- 
ferred your  own  opinion,  but  as  you  refuse  it,  I  will  read 
what  you  wish  :  — 

'  The  poet  can  never  have  far  to  seek  for  a  subject ; 
the  elements  of  his  art  are  in  him  and  around  him  on 
every  hand  ;  for  him  the  Ideal  world  is  not  remote  from 
the  Actual,  but  under  it  and  within  it ;  nay,  he  is  a  poet, 
precisely  because  he  discerns  it  there.  Wherever  there  is  a 
sky  above  him  and  a  world  around  him,  the  poet  is  in  his 
place  ;  for  here  too  is  man's  existence,  with  its  infinite 
longings  and  small  acquirings  ;  —  its  ever-thwarted,  ever- 
renewed  endeavors  ;  its  unspeakable  aspirations,  its 
fears  and  hopes  that  wander  through  eternity ;  and 
all  the  mystery  of  brightness  and  of  gloorn  that  it 
was  ever  made  of  in  any  climate  since  man  began  to 
live.' 

"  I  subscribe  to  Carlyle,"  said  he,  "  but  on  that  repre- 
sentation, some,  who  are  world-renowned  as  poets,  have 
no  just  claim  to  the  title." 

"  For  instance  ?  " 

"  Wordsworth  is  a  case  in  point.  He  has  no  strag- 
glings with  mystery  and  no  worthy  aspirations  ;  but  is 
always  unimpassioned,  generally  tame,  and  often  child- 
ish and  puerile." 

"  All  this  of  my  great,  my  beloved  Wordsworth  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me  ;  I  did  not  think  I  was  touching  one  of 


32  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

your  idols.  But  unfortunately,  I  cannot  retract  a  single 
word." 

"  You  surely  do  not  know  him." 

"  As  much  as  I  desire,  though  I  regret  that  we  differ. 
We  do  not  need  to  drink  up  the  ocean  to  be  sure  that 
it  is  salt." 

"  You  are  severe." 

"  Not  intentionally.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  look  over 
his  bill  of  fare  divided  and  subdivided  like  some  botan- 
ical index.  You  have  his  works  I  presume." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  quite  like  to  trust  him  in 
your  hands." 

"  I  will  commit  no  violence.  But  I  want  to  edify 
you,"  said  he,  taking  the  volume  which  she  reached  him 
from  the  book-case,  and  rapidly  reading  from  the  Table 
of  Contents :  — 

'  Poems  referring  to  the  Period  of  Childhood. 

'  Juvenile  Pieces. 

'  Poems  founded  on  the  Affections. 

'  Poems  of  the  Fancy. 

'  Poems  of  the  Imagination  !     "  A  nice  distinction,  that !  " 

'Miscellaneous  Sonnets. 

'  Memorials  of  a  Tour  in  Scotland. 

'  Sonnets  dedicated  to  Liberty. 

'  Memorials  of  a  Tour  on  the  Continent. 

'  The  River  Duddon.     A  Series  of  Sonnets. 

'  Ecclesiastical  Sketches.     Parts  1,  2  and  3. 

'  Poems  on  the  naming  of  Places. 

'Inscriptions,  etc. 

'  Poems  of  Sentiment  and  Reflection,  etc.,  etc. 

'  Poems  referring  to  the  Period  of  Old  Age. 

'  Epitaphs,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.' 

'  Here  are  poems  all  classified,  and,  as  I  think  some 
one  has  remarked,  labelled  like  phials  in  an  apothecary'* 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  33 

establishment.  What  shall  I  help  you  to,  Miss  Gra- 
ham?" 

"  To  a  little  patience  if  you  please.  I  am  convicted 
by  your  array,  but  by  no  means  converted  to  your  be- 
lief." 

"  How  can  such  a  systematic  poetizing  fail  to  quash 
all  genuine  inspiration  ?  And  then  his  subjects  are  so 
prosaic." 

"  Worse  and  worse  !  You  are  truly  unmerciful,  but 
you  will  surely  be  obliged  to  change  your  opinion." 

"  I  am  ready  for  any  experiment" 

"  But  you  must  promise  to  lay  aside  your  prej- 
udices, and  allow  his  poems  to  be  tried,  not  by  the 
mode  of  their  announcement,  but  by  their  intrinsic 
merit." 

"  That  is,  if  they  have  any,"  interrupted  he,  Tnth  a 
look  of  mischief. 

"  I  believe  you  are  '  an  obstinate  case,'  and,  but  for  my 
strong  assurance,  I  should  yield  the  point.  I  am  ready 
to  admit  that  Wordsworth  trammelled  himself  by  what 
srnns  to  me  his  mistaken  theory.  There  may  be  an 
ideal  side  to  most  subjects,  yet  I  never  could  quite  agree 
with  him,  or  with  the  author  of  '  Margaret,'  that  every 
subject  is  a  legitimate  theme  for  the  poet." 

"  There  we  are  certainly  in  harmony.  Conceive  of  a 
sonnet  to  an  onion  or  a  cabbage." 

Marion  laughed  as  she  continued, — 

"  I  dislike  his  system  of  classification  as  much  as  you  ; 
but  that  surely  does  not  decide  the  rank  of  his  poems. 
And  I  am  confident  you  will  yet  be  converted  into  an 
admirer.  But  your  promise." 

"  I  promise  to  be  as  candid  as  possible,  and,  if  con- 
vinced of  my  mistake,  frankly  to  acknowledge  it." 


34  MARION  GRAHAM; 

«  Here  then  is  something  to  begin  with."  And  find- 
ing a  favorite  poem,  she  held  the  book  towards  him. 

"  Nay,  that  would  not  be  a  fair  experiment.  Please 
to  read  it  yourself." 

Commencing  in  a  tremulous  voice,  she  read  "  Tintern 
Abbey,"  italicizing  by  her  manner,  the  following  passage  : 

"  That  blessed  mood, 
lu  which  the  burden  of  the  mystery, 
Jn  which  the  heavy  and  the  weary  weight 
Of  all  this  unintelligible  world, 
Is  lightened :  —  that  serene  and  blessed  mood 
In  which  the  affections  gently  lead  us  on,  — 
Until  the  breath  of  this  corporeal  frame, 
And  even  the  motion  of  our  human  blood, 
Almost  suspended,  we  are  laid  asleep 
In  body,  and  become  a  living  soul : 
While  with  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power 
Of  harmony,  and  the  deep  power  of  joy, 
We  see  into  the  life  of  things." 

When  she  had  finished,  she  looked  in  his  face  com- 
placently. 

"  Perhaps  if  you  go  on,  you  will  succeed,"  said  he, 
trying  to  conceal  his  satisfaction.  "  Will  you  read  an- 
other poem  ?  " 

"  You  cannot  disguise  your  interest.  But  I  will  se- 
lect one  more." 

And  she  began  the  "  Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Im- 
mortality." As  she  proceeded,  his  whole  spirit  was 
stirred  as  by  the  wild,  rich  music  of  an  u33olian  harp ; 
and  when  she  looked  up  to  him  at  its  close,  he  said,  — 

"  You  have  vanquished  me.  I  admit  that  I  never 
knew  him  before,  at  least,  that  I  never  knew  his  capabil- 
ities." 

"  And  then,"  said  Marion,  warmed  into  enthusiasm, 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  55 

"  his  serene,  elevated  love  of  nature  is  so  different  from 
Byron's  passionate  admiration,  which  almost  seems  to 
wither  and  consume  the  object  of  his  worship." 

"  Hard  again  upon  Byron !  " 

"  Not  so  hard  as  you  have  been  on  Wordsworth.  But 
since  our  talk  the  other  evening,  and  particularly  since 
reading  that  review  of  Burns,  I  have  had  a  great  many 
thoughts  about  the  matter." 

"  May  I  ask  to  what  issue  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  must  return  to  my  first  position,  that  it  is 
not  safe  to  give  one's  self  up  to  an  unrestrained  admira- 
tion of  him." 

"  And  what  then  becomes  of  Carlyle's  reasoning  ?  " 

"  Of  course  that  remains  good,  and  should  teach  us 
that  to  be  truly  just,  is  to  be  charitable." 

"  But  of  what  avail  Is  a  theory  if  set  aside  in  prac- 
tice ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  our  judgment  of  his  blamewor- 
thiness  may  thus  be  modified.  We  must  rejoice  in  the 
assurance  that  all  the  alleviating  circumstances  are 
known  and  considered  by  the  Searcher  of  hearts,  and 
will  have  due  weight  in  his  final  award.  But.  Mr. 
Vinton,  do  you  think  it  is  therefore  any  the  less  true, 
that  the  moral  quality  of  his  writings  must  be  deter- 
mined by  their  influence  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  pray  to  be  delivered  from  my 
friends,  if  you,  Miss  Graham,  have  become  a  special 
pleader  against  Byron." 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me.  I  confess  that  my  sym- 
pathies and  conscience  are  here  at  variance.  And  if  I 
argue  against  him  it  is  most  reluctantly." 

"  But  what  do  you  conceive  to  be  the  influence  of 
these  writings?" 


36  MARION   GRAHAM  J 

"  They  give  false  and  gloomy  views  of  life,  and,  by 
inducing  misanthropy,  dishearten  one  in  the  life-conflict, 
if  they  do  not  positively  pervert  his  better  nature." 

"And  what  do  you  understand  exactly  by  the  life- 
conflict  ?  " 

In  their  conversations,  Marion  had  occasionally  felt 
that  it  was  Mr.  Vinton's  object  rather  to  draw  out  her 
views  than  to  express  his  own.  And  yet,  while  she 
was  sometimes  annoyed  by  his  close  questions,  there 
was  a  fascination  in  his  manner  that  insensibly  led  her 
along.  She  surmised,  however,  that  there  was  a  con- 
cealed irony  in  his  last  query,  and  there  was  a  slight 
consciousness  of  this  manifest  in  her  reply. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me,  when  you  know  so  much  bet- 
ter than  I  ?  " 

Fixing  his  clear  eye  upon  her,  he  urged,  — 

"  I  am  sincere  ;  will  you  not  tell  me  just  what  you 
mean  by  the  life-conflict  ?  " 

Persuaded  in  spite  of  herself,  with  great  seriousness 
she  answered,  — 

"  I  mean  simply  this ;  —  by  the  help  of  the  Divine 
Spirit  to  overcome  evil,  and  thus  become  fit  for 
heaven." 

"  Pardon  my  persistence,  and  indulge  me  once  more. 
Why  do  you  attribute  to  Byron's  writings  an  influence 
so  hostile  to  this  ?  " 

''Because  I  have  seen  it,  and  because  I  have — felt 
it,"  she  added,  with  a  deep  glow.  "  But,  indeed,  it  is 
hardly  fair  for  you,  from  your  assumed  office  of  teacher, 
to  put  me  so  under  the  screws.  I  think  I  shall  revenge 
myself  by  beginning  to  catechize  you." 

"  Another  time  you  shall  have  full  liberty.  Allow  me 
a  few  words  more.  I  fancied  there  was  a  warm  re- 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  37 

sponse  in  your  heart  to  what  I  read  you  from  Carlyle. 
How  far  was  I  mistaken  ?  " 

"  You  read  me  rightly.  I  was  greatly  moved  by  his 
forcible  plea,  which  to  me  was  new,  as  well  as  by  his 
striking  illustrations.  And  I  think  my  judgment  does 
not  differ  materially  from  his.  But,  for  the  moment,  I 
allowed  myself  to  confound  Byron  with  his  writings. 
On  thinking  it  all  over,  however,  I  saw  my  error." 

"  And  are  not  one's  writings, then,  a  part  of  himself?  " 

"  I  begin  to  think  you  are  playing  the  sophist  in  order 
to  expose  my  shallowness." 

"  Nay,  Miss  Graham,  you  will  not  do  me  such  injus- 
tice. I  asked  the  question  in  good  faith."  And  he 
waited  for  her  reply. 

"  If  they  are  an  outflow,  of  course  they  must  be  an 
expression  of  himself.  But  I  think  we  may  strongly 
reprobate  one's  views,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  make 
great  allowance  for  him  who  advances  them,  and  cher- 
ish most  kindly  feelings  towards  him." 

"  A  just  and  generous  sentiment.  May  this  sweet 
charity  always  find  a  home  in  your  heart!  I  am  cer- 
tainly happy  to  agree  with  you  here.  But  the  clock 
strikes,  and  it  must  be  nine." 

4i  It  will  never,  never  do,"  said  Maurice  to  himself,  as 
lie  closed  the  gate. 

"  I  could  not  have  believed  it  ten."  soliloquized  Mar- 
ion as  she  looked  at  her  watch.  "  But  what  a  strange 
being !  How  provokingly  cool  he  sometimes  is  !  And 
yet  he  carries  a  resistless  charm.  Such  wondrous  eyes  ! 
I  used  to  think  he  had  no  soul.  But  those  eyes  alone 
could " 

Beware,  Marion  !  thy  bark  is  setting  towards  that 
deep  current  which  has  made  many  a  shipwreck. 


38  MARION  GRAHAM: 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  Like  a  blind  spinner  in  tlie  sun 

I  tread  my  days ; 

I  know  that  all  the  threads  will  run 
Appointed  ways." 

It  would  be  difficult,  perhaps,  to  draw  the  line,  where, 
with  Marion's  interest  in  her  studies,  began  to  be 
blended  an  indefinable  interest  in  her  teacher,  as  she  con- 
tinued to  call  him.  As  their  intercourse  developed  him 
more  and  more,  she  marvelled  at  his  rich  stores  of 
knowledge,  at  the  ease  and  elegance  of  his  conversation, 
and  at  a  fascination  of  manner  entirely  unlocked  for 
in  one  who  had  stood  so  aloof  from  the  world. 

Marion's  mother,  a  gentle,  loving  woman,  had  died 
when  she  was  an  infant,  and,  as  her  father  had  never 
married  again,  she  was  the  only  child  of  the  family.  A 
kind  maiden  aunt  had  the  charge  of  her  till  she  was 
fourteen,  when  she  also  was  removed  by  death.  Since 
then,  Marion  had  been  nominally  at  the  head  of  affairs, 
though  her  dependence  was  upon  Polly  Somers,  a  faith- 
ful old  housekeeper,  who  had  been  years  in  the  family 

Judge  Graham,  a  man  of  high,  intellectual  character 
and  fine  feelings,  was  an  indulgent  father,  lavishing  upon 
her  every  thing  which  wealth  could  procure.  He  had 
taken  great  pleasure  in  developing  her  mind  and  direct- 
ing her  studies.  And  he  was  proud  of  the  result.  But 
he  was  of  quiet,  undemonstrative  manners,  and  much 
given  to  seclusion.  Having  the  utmost  confidence  in 


OR,   HIGHER   THAX   HAPPINESS.  39 

his  daughter's  discretion  and  delicacy,  he  left  her  with- 
out comment  to  pursue  her  own  course,  while  he  occu- 
pied himself  in  the  library.  Marion  noticed  that  he 
always  sat  where  he  could  look  upon  her  mother's  por- 
trait, but,  much  as  she  longed  to  do  so,  she  did  not  ven- 
ture to  break  through  his  reserve,  and  speak  of  her  in 
his  presence.  Nor,  as  he  never  invited  her  confidence, 
did  she  feel  at  liberty  to  open  her  heart,  and  ask  for 
sympathy  or  counsel.  Thus,  amid  coming  perils,  she 
was  left  to  guide  her  own  bark  as  she  best  could. 

Mr.  Vinton  had  hitherto  called  only  at  the  appointed 
seasons,  but  on  a  bright  September  afternoon,  he  brought 
a  bouquet  of  wild  flowers  which  he  had  gathered  in  the 
woods. 

"  My  cousin  Miss  Whipple,  Mr.  Vinton,"  said  Mar- 
ion, as  he  entered  the  parlor. 

Mr.  Vinton  gave  an  involuntary  start  of  pleasure  as 
he  glanced  at  the  pretty  apparition.  All  the  attractions 
that  could  be  presented  by  soft  and  beautiful  coloring, 
regular  features,  graceful  proportions,  and  tasteful  drap- 
ing, were  centred  in  the  little  figure  before  him.  You 
might  feel  that  she  was  a  trifle  overdressed,  and  yet 
every  thing  so  well  became  her  that  you  would  hardly 
have  suggested  a  change.  Dancing  golden  curls  hung 
coquettishly  around  her  face,  and,  in  either  damask  cheek, 
as  well  as  in  her  plump  chin,  were  laughing  dimples, 
which,  in  her  case,  you  would  not  scruple  to  call  love's 
cradles.  She  seemed  made  on  purpose  to  be  looked  at, 
and  the  evident  pleasure  that  the  sight  occasioned  be- 
holders, gave  her  an  exalted  idea  of  her  own  charms 
But  it  was  soon  manifest  that  no  soul  inhabited  this 
beautiful  form,  or,  at  least,  that  it  had  never  been 
waked  to  consciousness.  Having  just  burst  out  from 


40  MARION  GRAHAM; 

the  boarding  school,  she  had  entered  upon  her  great 
business.  That  business  she  believed  to  be  to  win 
general  admiration,  and  then  secure  the  best  possible 
match. 

Marion  had  put  the  bouquet  into  a  vase,  and  now 
carried  it  for  her  cousin  to  admire. 

"  How  lovely  !  I  perfectly  doat  on  wild  flowers,"  said 
she  with  an  affected  lisp.  "  You  must  luxuriate  in  the 
country,  dear  Marion.  Do  you  know  I  half  envy 
you?" 

"  Why  so  ?  "  asked  Marion,  who  saw  that  Maurice 
was  quietly  measuring  the  city  girl. 

"  Oh,  because  it  is  such  a  contrast  to  the  noise  and 
dust  of  Broadway." 

"  Would  you  like  to  live  here  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Vinton. 

This  was  a  home  question  she  had  not  anticipated, 
and  she  was  somewhat  confused  in  answering  it. 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  it,  you  know.  But  I  doat 
on  flowers  and  green  grass.  Don't  you  ?  "  said  she, 
turning  her  pretty  face  towards  him. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  do." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  fond  of  city  pleasures  then  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least" 

"  What  do  you  like  ?  " 

"  I  am  rather  a  savage  in  my  mode  of  life." 

"  Say,  Marion,  —  is  he  ?  " 

"  Rather  so,  I  think,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"  Well,  now,  I  took  him  for  quite  a  gentleman." 

"  It  is  easy  for  young  people  to  deceive  themselves," 
added  he  drily. 

Miss  Whipple  could  not  quite  get  his  drift,  but  she 
would  not  give  him  up,  and  she  begged  him  to  describe 
the  pleasures  of  the  country,  of  which,  she  said,  she  had 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  41 

read  a  great  deal.  This  he  did  with  a  sly  humor  which 
Marion  had  never  before  seen  in  him  ;  and,  between  his 
descriptions  and  her  merry  laughter,  Miss  Whipple  was 
a  good  deal  mystified.  But  she  took  a  great  liking  to 
Mr.  Vinton,  as  she  frankly  told  Marion.  Nor  did  this 
liking  diminish  with  further  acquaintance.  And,  whether 
it  was  because  he  felt  more  free  in  the  presence  of  a 
third  person,  or  for  some  other  reason,  he  now  called 
frequently.  It  was  evident  to  Marion  that  he  had  soon 
taken  the  measure  of  her  visitor ;  and,  if  the  truth  must 
be  known,  although  he  was  always  gentlemanly,  it 
was  not  long  before  he  began  to  quiz  her.  But  Julia 
Whipple  was  so  cased  in  vanity,  and  so  wanting  in 
quickness  of  perception,  that  his  shafts  glanced  harm- 
lessly from  her.  She,  however,  had  become  increasingly 
satisfied  that  he  was  worth  her  efforts,  and,  during  his 
calls,  she  made  her  most  attractive  displays. 

On  a  bright  October  afternoon,  Mr.  Vinton  invited 
the  cousins  to  a  stroll  in  the  woods. 

"  How  perfectly  charming  it  will  be  ! "  said  Julia,  as 
they  left  the  room  to  prepare  themselves. 

Marion  gave  her  advice  as  to  suitable  apparel  and 
walking-shoes,  but  paying  no  heed  to  it,  she  came  trip- 
ping back  in  a  sky-blue  barege  and  French  slippers. 
As  they  entered  a  forest  at  some  distance  from  the  vil- 
lage, she  went  into  manifold  ecstasies. 

"  How  romantic  !  "  exclaimed  she  to  Mr.  Vinton. 
"  Shouldn't  you  like  to  build  a  cottage  here  ?  " 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  live  in,  to  be  sure." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  he  gravely.  "  Savage  as  I  am,  I 
prefer  some  degree  of  civilization,  and  do  not  yet  covet 
the  honor  of  being  a  wild  man  of  the  woods." 


42  MAitiox  GRAHAM; 

«  You  don't  mean  so !  Now,  do  you  know  I  think 
this  is  lovelier  than  a  ball  or  a  theatre  ?  " 

"  When  I  have  had  your  experience  in  the  world,  1 
may  be  driven  to  the  same  state  of  desperation." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  desperation." 

u  I  mean  your  precise  condition  at  this  moment ;  —  a 
state  of  bewitching  romance." 

"You  are  very  funny,"  said  she,  throwing  herself 
down  in  a  picturesque  attitude.  "  But,  Mr.  Vinton, 
won't  you  make  me  a  wreath  of  these  bright  leaves  ?  I 
know  country  people  do  such  things,  but  I  could  never 
guess  how." 

"  I  presume  your  cousin  is  better  skilled  in  that  line 
than  I  am." 

"  I  will  do  the  best  I  can,"  and  Marion  seated  herself, 
while  Mr.  Vinton  gathered  the  choicest  leaves  for  her, 
and  then  placed  himself  at  her  feet. 

"  I  wish  you  would  try,"  said  Julia.  "  I  know  you  can 
make  one,  if  you  only  will." 

He  commenced  weaving  achaplet,  mingling  the  dark 
evergreen  with  the  brilliant  leaves. 

"  That  is  enchanting.  It  is  prettier  even  than  yours," 
said  Julia  to  Marion,  who  had  completed  hers,  but  was 
holding  it  in  her  hand,  expecting  Maurice  to  crown  her 
cousin.  They  had  both  thrown  aside  then'  hats,  and 
through  the  gold  and  crimson  foliage  that  still  lingered 
upon  the  trees,  the  sunbeams,  playing  round  their  heads, 
seemed  like  showers  of  sparkling  gems. 

"  Allow  me  to  crown  you,"  said  he  in  an  under-tone, 
while  he  placed  the  chaplet  upon  Marion's  brow.  As 
she  bent  to  conceal  her  sudden  blush,  he  lifted  her  wreath, 
and  approaching  Julia,  — 

"  Now  will  you  be  garlanded  ?  " 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  43 

"  1  like  the  other  best,"  said  she,  pouting  her  pretty 
lips. 

"  But  that  is  already  dedicated." 

"  Won't  you  let  me  have  it,  Marion  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish,"  replied  she,  not  without  reluctance,  it 
must  be  confessed,  taking  it  from  her  own  head  and 
placing  it  on  Julia's. 

"  Now  it's  my  turn  to  be  offended,"  said  Maurice, 
looking  half  reproachfully  at  Marion. 

"  Let  this  be  my  peace-offering,  then,"  and,  picking  up 
the  garland  she  had  made,  she  placed  it  lightly  on  his 
dark  locks. 

"  Commend  me  to  a  woman  for  the  amicable  adjust- 
ment of  all  difficulties  ; "  and  he  bowed  gallantly. 

"  You  look  exactly  like  some  heathen  god,"  said  Julia. 

«  Which  of  them,  Misa  Whipple  ?  " 

"  I  never  can  remember  their  names." 

"  Of  course  your  compliment  is  very  doubtful.  But  I 
bear  no  malice." 

"  You  turn  every  thing  about,  Mr.  Vinton.  I  meant 
it  for  a  great  compliment.  Don't  you  see  the  likeness, 
Marion  ?  " 

"  To  Pan,  perhaps." 

"  See,  Miss  Graham,  how  those  gorgeous  leaves 
quiver  and  sparkle  in  the  sunlight.  Everybody  flings 
at  the  '  sear  and  yellow  leaf,'  yet,  after  all,  its  beauty 
exceeds  that  of  the  glad  summer  leaf." 

"  But  how  soon  it  vanishes  !  Yet  I  admit  there  is  a 
peculiar  glory  crowning  the  autumnal  season." 

"  And  do  not  its  sad  voices  speak  to  a  deeper  part  of 
your  nature,  than  the  gayer  seasons  can  reach  ?  " 

"  Always,"  replied  she  earnestly.  "  But  while  they 
falk  most  plaintively  of  the  mutation  and  decay  of  all 


44  MARION  GRAHAM; 

earthly  things,  they  also,  it  seems  to  me,  discourse  elo- 
quently of  the  future  and  immortal  life." 

"  As  a  man  listeneth,  so  heareth  he,"  returned  Mau- 
rice with  a  mournful  smile.  "  Not  such  is  their  u iter- 
ance to  me.  But  what  matters  it?" 

«  You  have  seen  '  The  Closing  Scene,'  by  T.  B.  Read, 
have  you  not?"  inquired  she,  dreading  one  of  his  mel- 
ancholy moods. 

"  I  have,  and  do  not  wonder  at  the  admiration  it  has 
elicited.  It  is  perfect  of  its  kind,  —  a  series  of  finished 
word-pictures.  Could  any  thing  be  finer  than  this;  — 

'  The  thistle-down,  the  only  ghost  of  flowers 

Sailed  slowly  by,  —  passed  noiseless  out  of  sight.'  " 

"  Nothing,  I  think,  except  this  ;  — 

'  She  had  known  sorrow.     He  had  walked  with  her, 
Oft  supped,  and  broke  with  her  the  ashen  crust, 

•     And,  in  the  dead  leaves,  still  she  heard  the  stir 
Of  his  black  mantle,  trailing  in  the  dust ! ' " 

They  sat  some  time,  filled  with  the  music  of  silence, 
for  Julia  had  wandered  off  by  herself. 

"  You  remember  '  Thanatopsis,' "  said  Maurice,  break- 
ing the  stillness.  And  in  a  dreamy  voice  he  began,  — 

" '  To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 

Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language.' " 

Nor  did  he  cease  till  he  had  gone  through  the  poem. 
Marion  thanked  him  with  her  dewy  eyes.  And  Julia 
Whipple,  who  returned  as  he  was  commencing,  and 
who  had  been  gazing  into  his  face  with  affected  rapture, 
now  broke  out,  — 

"  How  sweet !     What  name  did  you  say  ?  " 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  45 

"  Thanatopsis." 
"  Fanny  —  who  ?  " 

"  Fanny  Topsis"  said  he,  with  a  quizzical  look  which 
nearly  upset  Marion's  gravity. 

"  What  a  lovely  poetess !   She  is  English,  I  presume/' 
"  She  is  English,"  he  replied  with  unmoved  sobriety. 

"  Cousin  Marie,  don't  you  think  Mr.  Vintoii  is  a  hand- 
some man?  " 

It  was  two  or  three  days  after  their  walk,  and  Julia 
had  been  sitting  in  unwonted  silence. 

*»  Certainly,  I  do,"  replied  Marion,  amused  that  the 
subject  of  her  meditations  should  thus  become  mani- 
fest. "  But  I  should  not  have  supposed  you  would  be 
attracted  by  intellectual  beauty." 

"  Oh,  he  is  so  tall,  and  has  such  a  rich  complexion, 
and  thick,  dark  hair.  And  then  he  smiles  very  sweetly. 
But  how  old  is  he?  " 

"•  Twenty -two  or  three." 

"  I  thought  he  was  older.     I  am  glad  he  is  so  young." 

-  Why  are  you  glad  ?  " 

"  Oh,  became" 

k%  Don't  be  foolish,  Julia." 

At  that  moment,  they  discovered  Mr.  Vinton  himself 
at  the  door,  which  had,  all  the  time,  been  slightly  ajar. 

••  Mr.  Vinton,  do  take  my  part.  Cousin  Marion  has 
been  lecturing  me." 

"  Indeed?     And  what  can  Miss  Julia  have  done?" 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  After  our  German,  I  will  listen  to  your  grievances 
if  you  wish." 

"  Will  you  oome  out  to  the  summer-house  ?  " 

"  At  your  bidding,"  replied  he,  bowing. 


46  MARION  GRAHAM; 

When  the  German  hour  was  over,  Marion  was  obliged 
to  remind  Mr.  Vinton  of  his  promise. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  must  hasten  to  relieve  Miss  Whipple  of 
her  self-appointed  task." 

Julia  had  made  a  picturesque  arrangement  of  herself. 
She  was  half  reclining  in  the  arbor,  her  tiny  feet  peep- 
ing out  from  her  rose-colored  dress.  She  seemed  to 
have  been  weeping,  and  her  handkerchief  was  still  at 
her  face.  Mr.  Vinton  stood  suddenly  before  her,  saying 
in  a  brisk  tone,  — 

"  Now,  Miss  Julia,  for  your  business." 

"  Please  not  call  it  business,"  said  she,  making  room 
for  him  beside  her. 

"  What  is  it  then  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  understand  ?  "  asked  she,  lifting  her  eyes 
into  his,  and  quickly  dropping  them  again. 

"  I  fear  I  am  dull  in  interpreting  young  ladies' 
thoughts." 

"  But  you  can  see  when  they  are  not  happy." 

"  So  -  you,  then,  are  unhappy.  Is  there  any  thing  1 
can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal." 

"  What  is  it,  Miss  Julia  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  to  have  you  ask  me.  I  would  rather 
you  would  find  it  out  yourself." 

"But  supposing  I  cannot,  which  is  precisely  my 
case." 

"  Do  you  really  wish  I  should  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly." 

"  And  won't  you  think  me  bold  ?  "  said  she,  looking 
coquettishly  into  his  face. 

"  Not  for  being  frank,  surely." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  she,  casting  down  her  eyes, 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  47 

while  a  soft  blush  tinged  her  fair  cheek,  "  I  want  to  be 
comforted? 

"  For  what  ?  "  asked  he,  a  little  more  puzzled  in  com- 
prehending her  than  if  he  had  been  a  vain  man. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  all,  only  re- 
member that  you  have  promised  not  to  think  me  bold. 
I  told  cousin  Marie  how  much  I  liked  you,  and  that  I 
Thought  you  liked  me  too.  And  don't  you  think  she 
said  you  didn't  ?  "  Then,  fixing  her  beautiful  eyes  upon 
him,  she  asked,  "  You  do  like  me  a  little,  don't 
you  ?  " 

She  was  certainly  a  very  attractive  object,  as  she  sat 
with  her  half-downcast  eyes,  her  flushed  cheek,  and  her 
bewitching  smile,  waiting  for  him  to  console  her.  It 
was  an  embarrassing  position  for  a  man  who  had  kept 
so  entirely  aloof  from  all  tender  scenes  with  the  fair  sex. 
Yet  that  a  lovely  girl  should  be  anxious  he  should  like 
her,  was  truly  not  an  unpardonable  offence.  Totally 
unprepared  for  any  thing  further,  he  hesitated,  and 
finally  said, — 

"  I  suppose  your  cousin  meant  there  were  some  things 
about  you  which  I  could  not  like." 

"  I  should  like  to  please  you  in  every  thing,"  contin- 
ued she,  encouraged  to  adventure  upon  him  a  little 
more  of  her  charming  frankness.  "  Since  I '  came  out,'  I 
have  had  a  great  many  attentions,  but  if  I  had  you  for 
my  own  friend,  I  shouldn't  care  for  such  things.  Be- 
sides, 1  know  papa  would  b'ke  you." 

Convinced,  in  spite  of  himself,  that  the  end  she  con- 
templated was  more  serious  than  he  had  been  willing 
to  suppose,  an  expression,  part  comic  and  part  kindlv, 
stole  over  his  face  as  he  replied,  — 


48  MARION   GRAHAM; 

"  Excuse  my  bluntness,  Miss  Julia,  but  I  cannot  be 
one  of  your  lovers,  if  that  is  what  you  mean.  And, 
were  you  my  sister,  I  should  counsel  you  to  cultivate 
the  grace  of  true  womanly  delicacy,  as  you  see  it  in 
your  noble  cousin." 

The  tears  sprang  into  her  eyes,  and  perceiving  them, 
he  added  in  a  gentler  tone,  — 

"If  you  will  put  away  all  affectation,  and  be  a  sim- 
ple, natural  young  girl,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  like 
you,  if  you  can  pardon  my  plain  talk  sufficiently  to 
wish  me  to  do  so." 

Julia,  shallow  as  she  was,  was  neither  ill-tempered, 
nor,  by  nature,  artful ;  hence  her  affectation  was  so 
apparent.  She  was  a  little  piqued  by  his  remarks,  but 
she  had  sense  enough  to  respect  him  for  his  frankness, 
and  goodness  of  heart  enough  not  to  be  offended  by 
it. 

"My  mother  died  when  I  was  a  child,"  said 
she,  "and  I  have  always  been  petted  and  praised, 
and  told  what  an  impression  I  should  make.  I 
have  been  kept  at  boarding  school  a  great  deal,  but 
I  don't  believe  I  know  half  as  much  as  Marion,  do 
you?" 

"  I  don't  think  you  do,"  replied  he,  smiling  kindly 
at  her  simplicity. 

"Can't  I  study  while  I'm  here,  and  won't  you  bu 
my  teacher?" 

"With  pleasure,"  said  he,  feeling  at  last  a  genuine 
interest  in  the  petite  figure  sitting  so  demurely  beside 
him.  "And  now  we  will  go  into  the  house." 

"  Are  you  not  through  yet  ?  What  long  lessons  you 
do  give  her !  " 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  41) 

They  had  been  walking  among  flowers,  and  the  hours, 
which,  to  them,  had  sped  by  with  such  noiseless  feet, 
had  seemed  interminable  to  poor  Julia.  She  had  waited 
and  watched,  and  watched  and  waited,  till  her  patience 
could  endure  no  longer.  So  she  rushed  in,  a  most  un- 
meet presence,  harshly  interrupting  music  sweet  as  the 
dreamy  summer  breezes  when  they  sing  among  the  will- 
ing pines.  Alas!  she  had  been  entirely  forgotten! 
With  her  return,  Mr.  Vinton's  manner  became  ab- 
stracted, and  he  shortly  withdrew. 

"  Has  he  been  lecturing  you,  that  you  are  both  so 
sober?" 

Marion  gave  an  indefinite  reply,  and  then  excused 
herself  for  the  night.  She  wished  to  be  alone  —  to  com- 
mune with  her  own  spirit. 

Mr.  Vinton  had  uniformly  treated  her  with  that  pecul- 
iar deference  so  pleasing  to  a  woman.  But,  while  his 
attentions  were  always  delicate,  and,  from  him,  conveyed 
more  than  would  a  multitude  more  marked  from  most 
men,  —  he  had  never  breathed  in  words  the  first  sylla- 
ble of  love.  The  strange  mystery  which  she  had  early 
noticed  grew  more  and  more  unfathomable.  His  expres- 
sions were  sometimes  dark  and  enigmatical,  and,  not  un- 
frequently,  he  completed  a  sentence  very  differently  from 
what  the  beginning  would  have  led  her  to  expect.  His 
sympathy,  where  they  agreed,  was  full  and  entirely  sat- 
isfying. Yet  she  was  at  times  conscious  of  a  certain 
want  in  him,  not  a  want  of  depth,  but  of  an  unexplained 
something,  the  absence  of  which  a  good  deal  disturbed 
her,  though  why  she  hardly  knew.  There  are  those 
with  whom  you  can  never  get  beyond  a  certain  point, 
because  there  is  nothing  beyond.  Not  so  with  him. 
After  every  season  of  free  intercourse,  she  felt  that  she 


50  MARION  GRAHAM; 

had  penetrated  farther  into  the  core  of  his  being.  And 
what  she  found  always  revealed  more  to  be  yet  discov- 
ered. But  the  unsolved  mystery  loomed  up  before  her 
like  an  ever-enlarging  shadow.  Again  and  again  did 
she  undertake  to  examine  it.  It  invariably  eluded  her 
scrutiny. 

Never  had  any  human  being  obtained  the  power  over 
Marion's  mind,  that  this  man,  seemingly  without  an 
effort,  had  acquired.  The  conviction  that  he  had  no 
common-place  interest  in  her  was  increasing,  and  the 
thrill  it  awakened  would  have  left  her  in  no  uncertainty 
as  to  her  own  sentiments,  had  she  wished  to  pronounce 
sentence  upon  herself.  But  any  such  issue  she  care- 
fully evaded.  It  was  enough  for  her  to  live  in  the  present, 
made  sweeter  by  the  occasional  memory  of  her  former 
trial.  Between  Schiller's  charming  dramas,  her  teach- 
er's growing  fascinations,  and  her  day-dreamings  to  fill 
up  the  intervals,  she  was  fully  reconciled  to  past  events. 

More  than  once  she  had  recalled  Mr.  Maynard's  mys- 
terious intimation.  Could  he  have  meant  Mr.  Vinton  ? 
And  yet  how  should  he  have  read  what  had,  at  that 
time,  in  no  way  been  manifested  ?  Ah,  Marion !  your 
eyes  were  not  then  opened !  But  if  her  sometime-sus- 
picions (she  would  not  call  them  hopes,)  were  well 
grounded,  why  did  he  not  speak  ? 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  he  cares 
nothing  about  me.  Foolish  that  I  am  to  be  so  full  of 
fancies !  " 

Before  she  slept  that  night,  she  resolved  to  keep  a 
stricter  guard  over  herself,  and,  by  all  means,  not  to  part 
with  her  hoarded  wealth  till  it  had  been  asked  for.  But 
could  she  be  sure  she  had  not  already  bestowed  it,  — 
and  that  past  recall  ? 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  51 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"Too  much,  too  soon,  despondingly  we  yield! 
A  better  lesson  we  are  taught  by  the  lilies  of  the  field ! 
A  sweeter  by  the  birds  of  heaven  —  which  tell  us  in  their  flight, 
Of  One  that  through  the  desert  air  forever  guides  them  right." 

THE  old  house  obtruded  itself  well  nigh  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  street.  Every  new  passer-by  started  with  sur- 
prise as  he  came  across  the  dingy  edifice,  setting  itself 
thus  unexpectedly  in  his  path.  It  had  a  faded,  would-be 
genteel  air,  holding  on  upon  its  shattered  roof  as  if 
mindful  of  better  days,  while  its  rickety  blinds  clung  to 
it  here  and  there  as  remnants  of  its  pristine  estate.  Its 
head  had  pressed  upon  its  shoulders,  and  its  shoulders 
upon  its  loosened  foundation,  till  the  whole  had  settled 
down  further  than  was  quite  consistent  with  uprightness 
and  dignity.  There  it  was,  indubitably  a  gloomy-look- 
ing mansion,  and  yet,  from  its  defenceless  position,  in- 
viting the  gaze  of  all  beholders. 

The  street  whereon  it  stood,  was  the  thoroughfare  of 
the  village,  and  whenever,  by  any  chance,  the  curtains 
were  not  dropped,  as  no  shrubbery  veiled  the  windows 
from  impertinent  eyes,  the  constant  throng  could  easily 
glance  in  at  them.  And  now  let  us  enter  and  see  what 
is  going  on  in  the  interior. 

It  is  a  bitter  December  day,  though  not  one  of  those 
clear  cold  days  when  every  thing  sparkles  in  the  sun- 
beams. The  sky  is  in  half  mourning,  thr  atmospliriv 


52  MABION  GRAHAM; 

is  tearful,  and,  consequently,  the  little  parlor  wears  rather 
a  cheerless  aspect.  It  is,  however,  furnished  comforta- 
bly, and  seems  as  if  striving  to  look  pleasant,  yet  not 
quite  able  to  make  it  out. 

The  panes  in  the  windows,  and  the  windows  them- 
selves, are  of  different  sizes.  Clumsy  beams,  with  time- 
colored  paint,  lean  like  upright  sentinels  against  the 
walls,  without  the  faintest  attempt  at  concealment. 
The  paper  is  of  a  bright,  gaudy  pattern,  purporting  to 
have  been  handsome  to  those  who  cannot  see  through 
false  pretences,  but  now  bedimmed  with  smoke  and  old 
age. 

At  the  precise  moment  of  which  we  speak,  our  old 
friend,  Bessie  Maynard,  was  busily  at  work  on  one  of 
those  unsocial,  black  intruders  into  the  sunny  fireside, 
called  air-tights.  But  in  the  present  case,  it  was  evi- 
dently a  misnomer,  for,  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do,  the 
wind  came  whistling  down  the  chimney  and  into  the 
room,  like  a  thing  of  life.  If  it  had  only  whistled,  how- 
ever, Bessie  would  have  deemed  it  quite  civil,  nay,  in  a 
certain  mood,  she  might  have  listened  to  it  with  pleas- 
ure. There  is,  undeniably,  music  in  the  low,  fitful 
meanings  and  sobbings  of  the  wind.  But  when  it  comes 
to  puffing  like  a  steam-engine,  that  is  quite  another 
thing.  And  this  day,  to  Bessie's  great  discomfiture,  it 
came  puff —  puff —  puff.  Nor  was  that  all,  for,  with  every 
puff,  there  burst  forth  from  this  closely  shut  up  air-tight, 
smoke  and  gas  and  forked  tongues  of  fire.  Poor  Bes- 
sie !  she  battled  it  valiantly,  but  wTas  forced  to  yield. 

"  I  shall  certainly  suffocate,"  she  at  length  exclaimed. 
"  I  wonder  how  it  fares  with  William." 

Hastily  ascending  the  stairs,  and  opening  a  door,  a 
cloud  of  smoke  greeted  her,  but  she  faced  it,  and  shut 


OK,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  58 

t<>  the  door.  The  face  of  her  husband,  marked  by  ear- 
nest thought,  was  instantly  turned  towards  her,  and, 
through  the  misty  waves  of  smoke,  Bessie  could  see 
that,  although  his  eyes  were  quite  red,  his  brow  w;is 
placid,  as  hers,  poor  soul,  was  not. 

"  O  William !  how  can  you  sit  there  and  write  in 
this  terrible  smoke,  as  if  nothing  in  the  world  were  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  Because  I  must  finish  my  sermon  to-day.  But  I 
confess,  dear  Bessie,  it  is  rather  uncomfortable." 

"  Uncomfortable  indeed  !  For  my  part,  I  am  almost 
ready  to  pronounce  it  past  endurance." 

"  It  is  a  great  deal  better  to  dwell  here  with  you,  '  than 
with  a  brawling  woman '  in  a  house  without  smoke," 
said  he,  laying  his  hand  tenderly  on  her  head. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  not  add  to  your  trial.  But  I  have 
been  at  work  below  for  an  hour,  battling  it  with  wind 
and  smoke  till  I  am  tired  out,  yet  all  in  vain.  And  you 
are  in  quite  as  woful  a  plight,  if  you  would  only  think 
so." 

"  What  can't  be  cured,  must  be  endured,  you  know." 

"  Well,  you  are  fit  for  martyrdom." 

"  Not  to  be  martyred,  however,  I  trust." 

"  I  fear  I  should  prove  a  recanter.  But  I  must  go 
down  and  see  about  our  lunch,  for  I  have  concluded  to 
give  you  for  dinner  what  you  have  sometimes  asked  for; 
—  pancakes  and  coffee." 

u  Just  what  I  should  like." 

"  Good-by,  then.  I  hope  the  smoke  won't  make  you 
blind.  It  seems  too  bad  for  us  to  be  shut  up  to  such  a 
house." 

Bessie,  as  we  have  seen,  had  entered  upon  her  new 
sphere  with  bright  expectation.  Notwithstanding  Mr. 


54  MARION  GRAHAM; 

Maynard's  attempts  to  prepare  her  for  disappointments, 
every  thing  had  looked  couleur  de  rose.  Her  dreams  of 
love  in  a  cottage  had  left  no  margin  for  poor  servants, 
smoky  chimneys,  and  other  irritants  of  the  temper.  •  And 
Bessie,  lovely  and  loving  as  she  was,  was  not  quite  an 
angel.  She  was  now  encountering  the  stern  discipline 
of  life,  and,  in  spite  of  her  hopeful  spirit,  it  was  very  hard 
for  her.  It  is  easy,  in  the  glad  sunlight,  to  talk  of  pos- 
sible storms,  but  it  is  another  thing  to  battle  with  them 
when  exposed  to  their  fury.  Who  can  predict  how  he 
shall  endure  temptation  ?  Was  it  strange  that  Bessie, 
so  new  in  all  trying  experience,  should  be  disturbed, 
when  she  found  herself  launched  upon  a  troubled  sea  ? 
But  though  her  cares  sat  heavily  upon  her,  and  some- 
times unconsciously  fretted  her  spirit,  yet,  for  all  that, 
she  was  a  most  affectionate,  sympathizing  wife  and  a 
true  helpmeet. 

Their  present  house  had,  from  the  first,  struck  her  un- 
pleasantly, but  it  was  the  best,  on  Mr.  Maynard's  small 
salary,  which  they  could  afford  to  hire.  And  as,  from 
her  childhood,  she  had  been  accustomed  to  a  pleasant 
and  commodious  home,  this  accommodating  herself  to 
circumstances  was  harder  than  she  had  imagined.  The 
prose  of  life  she  found  very  unlike  its  poetry.  Her 
heart  was  not  unfrequently  heavy,  and  her  brow  over- 
cast,  while  her  expressive  eyes,  to  the  quick  sense  of  her 
husband,  betokened  coming  showers  of  tears,  in  which 
prognostic  he  was  generally  correct. 

It  was  a  season  of  trial  too  for  Mr.  Maynard.  It  was 
hard  to  see  her  whom  he  so  tenderly  loved  exposed,  on 
his  account,  to  constant  self-denial  and  sacrifice.  It 
would  be  terrible  should  her  sweet,  confiding  nature  be- 
come soured  by  adversity.  But  away  down  in  his  heart 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  55 

was  an  unshaken  confidence  that,  in  the  end,  she  would 
gain  the  victory.  So  he  was  content  to  abide  his  time. 

Bessie's  theory  was  unchanged.  But  she  belonged  to 
the  race  with  whom  infirmities  are  the  common  lot,  and 
she  was  sometimes  forced  to  acknowledge  herself  van- 
quished. Yet  she  struggled  with  her  impatient  spirit, 
and  prayed  against  it.  This  very  morning  she  had 
made  it  a  subject  of  special  supplication,  and  felt  quite 
confident  of  maintaining  her  equanimity  during  the 
day.  But  she  had  trusted  to  her  own  strength,  and,  in 
the  hour  of  trial,  it  had  failed  her. 

As  she  was  leaving  the  study  Mr.  Maynard  stepped 
towards  her,  and,  kissing  her  forehead,  looked  so  tenderly 
into  her  troubled  eyes,  that  the  tears  started,  but,  smil- 
ing through  them,  she  gaily  said,  — 

"  A  cup  of  coffee  will  make  me  good  natured." 

Hastening  down  through  the  smoky  hall  into  the 
smoky  parlor,  which  smoked  with  more  energy  than 
ever,  while  the  mingled  gas  made  her  head  whirl,  her 
assumed  gayety  vanished.  With  a  lengthened  face  she 
went  into  the  kitchen  to  inspect  Bridget's  proceedings. 

Be  it  premised  that,  with  the  fresh  ambition  of  a 
young  wife,  Bessie  had,  till  within  a  few  weeks,  been 
her  own  maid  of  all  work.  But,  finding  it  too  much  for 
her  health,  her  husband  had  recently  brought  from  the 
"  Intelligence  Office "  of  a  neighboring  city,  a  fresh 
Irish  recruit  "  used  to  all  kinds  of  work."  Bessie,  who 
never  had  experience  in  this  line  before,  soon  found  her- 
self launched  on  a  new  sea  of  troubles,  and,  many  a  time, 
sighed  for  dear  old  Judy.  Poor  Bridget  was  good-na- 
tured, and,  as  they  thought,  honest,  but  seemed  pre- 
doomed  to  mistakes. 

On  this  day  of  misfortunes  Mrs.  Maynard  had  told 


66  MAKION  GRAHAM; 

Bridget  to  roast  some  coffee.  She  was  very  particular 
as  to  the  exact  shade  of  brown  the  coffee  ought  to  as- 
sume. And  she  had  taken  unwearied  pains  to  teach 
Bridget  the  art  of  roasting  it,  till  she  thought  there  was 
one  thing  at  least  which  she  could  trust  her  to  do. 

"  Now  mind,  Bridget,  and  when  you  are  roasting  cof- 
fee, never  leave  it  for  one  minute  till  it  is  done." 

"  And  sure  I  won't  be  afther  laving  it,  ma'am." 

This  morning  she  had  renewed  her  charge,  to  which 
Bridget  made  her  usual  assent.  Supposing  it  nicely 
done,  she  opened  the  kitchen  door,  when  the  smoke  and 
flavor  of  burnt  coffee  greeted  her  eyes  and  nose,  but  no- 
body was  visible.  Stepping  to  the  window,  what  was 
her  dismay  to  see  Bridget  with  a  spider  full  of  coftee, 
burnt  to  a  coal,  deliberately  pouring  it  into  the  drain. 
Scarcely  crediting  her  senses,  she  waited  till  the  girl  re- 
appeared, who  set  down  the  empty  pan  with  a  most 
provoking  air  of  self-possession.  And  who  ever  saw  a 
lassie  from  the  Emerald  Isle  in  any  wise  disconcerted  by 
the  detection  of  her  offences  ? 

"  Bridget,  what  have  you  been  doing  with  the  cof- 
fee?" 

"  Sure,  ma'am,  and  I  han't  been  doin'  nothin'  with  it. 
Wasn't  ye  telling  me  to  be  afther  roasting  some  for  din- 
der?" 

"  You  have  done  nothing  with  it  ?  What  then  were 
you  pouring  into  the  drain  ?  " 

If  Mrs.  Maynard  expected  to  confound  her  maid  by 
this  home-question,  she  was  greatly  mistaken.  With 
the  most  imperturbable  composure  she  replied,  — 

"  And  sure,  ma'am,  'twas  only  the  lavings." 

In  a  sort  of  bewilderment  at  this  bold  denial  her  mis- 
tress said, — 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN  HAPPINESS.  57 

"  Well,  get  the  coffee  quick,  for  there  is  no  time  to 
lose." 

Bridget  went  to  the  cupboard,  and  came  back  hold- 
ing up  an  empty  box,  while,  in  great  apparent  surprise, 
she  exclaimed,  — 

"  See,  ma'am,  if  the  rats  haven't  eaten  up  every  ker- 
nel —  the  villains." 

Bessie's  indignation  waxed  great,  but,  struggling  to 
control  it,  she  replied,  — 

"  The  kitchen  is  full  of  smoke  from  the  coffee  you 
have  spoiled,  and,  with  my  own  eyes,  I  saw  you  throw- 
ing it  away." 

Vain  attempt  to  confound  her !  Bridget  would  in  no 
wise  recant  her  assertion  that  it  was  only  "  the  lavings," 
and  that  "  the  rats  had  made  off  with  the  coffee." 

To  Mrs.  Maynard's  inquiry  in  the  morning,  whether 
she  knew  how  to  fry  pancakes,  she  had  replied,  — 

"For  certain,  ma'am.  Didn't  I  do  it  often  in  the 
great  lady's  house  in  swate  auld  Ireland  ?  " 

The  twelve  o'clock  bell  rang.  Mr.  Maynard  was  one 
of  the  punctual  class,  and  their  dining  hour  was  half 
past  twelve.  Hardly  knowing  what  she  was  about, 
Bessie  stirred  the  pancakes,  and  directed  Bridget  to  fry 
them,  and  make  a  cup  of  tea  as  soon  as  possible.  She 
then  went  into  the  parlor,  and  hoping  the  wind  had 
changed,  she  opened  the  window  to  give  vent  to  the 
smoke.  Rolling  out  then:  little  table  she  speedily  laid  it, 
and  having  closed  the  windows,  she  stirred  the  fire 
afresh,  and  hastened  back  to  the  kitchen.  What  a 
sight  met  her  astonished  gaze  !  The  great  round  grid- 
dle for  baking  flatjacks,  covered  with  dubious  looking 
affairs,  was  smoking  away  as  if  in  haste  to  help  forward 
the  dinner.  And  there  stood  Bridget,  with  a  very  red 


58  MARION  GRAHAM; 

face,  in  the  full  tide  of  experiment,  a  dish  beside  her 
filled  with  her  black,  fat-soaked  doings.  Poor  Mrs.  May- 
nard  stood  for  a  moment  aghast,  and  then,  without  a 
single  word,  retreated  into  the  parlor.  The  old  stove 
was  working  away  most  diligently,  and  hid  succeeded 
in  filling  the  room  with  a  fresh  supply  of  smoke.  At 
this  point,  her  fortitude  deserted  her,  and  throwing  her- 
self upon  the  sofa,  she  burst  into  tears. 

Finding  it  past  the  dinner  hour,  Mr.  Maynard  came 
down  stairs  to  see  whether  any  thing  had  happened. 
It  was  some  time  before  his  wife  could  explain  her  new 
misfortunes,  and,  as  she  was  finishing,  Bridget  appeared 
placing  her  choice  dish  awry  on  the  table.  While  Bes- 
sie was  up  stairs  bathing  her  eyes,  Mr.  Maynard  took 
the  girl  in  hand. 

"  Take  out  that  dish,  and  throw  it  away.  It  is  not 
fit  to  eat" 

Quite  amazed,  but  not  venturing  to  reply  to  the  "  mas- 
ther,"  the  girl  literally  complied,  throwing  away  the 
dish,  contents  and  all.  Thus  the  pancakes  and  the  cof- 
fee, intended  for  their  dinner,  were  both  consigned  to 
the  drain.  Directing  Bridget  to  bring  up  a  piece  of 
pork,  he  did  what  many  a  minister  has  done  before  him, 
viz.,  with  his  own  hand,  cut  it  into  delicate  slices. 

As  they  sat  in  the  kitchen  at  their  simple  dinner,  Mr. 
Maynard  made  himself  unusually  agreeable.  But  al- 
though Bessie  laughed  at  his  bright  sallies,  she  evidently 
had  not  much  heart  for  merriment. 

"  I  am  going  to  invite  you  to  spend  the  afternoon 
abroad." 

She  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Will  you  get  ready  ?  Just  put  on  your  shawl  and 
hood." 


OK,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  59 

In  a  sort  of  maze  she  complied,  and  soon  appeared, 
arrayed  for  a  walk.  Taking  her  hand,  he  led  her  through 
the  little  hall,  and  then,  opening  the  opposite  door, 
ushered  her  into  the  "  best  parlor."  The  fire-board  had 
been  removed  and  log  andirons  laid  down,  and  the  wood 
blazed  and  crackled  with  a  cheerful  sound,  as  if  it  were 
a  real  pleasure  to  it  to  burn  for  the  comfort  of  such  un- 
fortunate, smoked-out  people. 

"  Now,  Bessie,  if  you  will  get  your  work,  I  will  bring 
down  my  writing ;  and  we  will  have  a  cozy  time,  —  you 
with  your  sewing,  and  I  with  my  sermon.  And  next 
week  we  will  have  a  stove  put  in  here,  so  that  we  can 
have  a  refuge  from  the  smoke." 

It  was  impossible  for  Bessie  entirely  to  resist  her  hus- 
band's-sunny  manner,  and  besides,  she  was  conscientious, 
and  would  have  reproached  herself  for  interrupting  his 
study  hours.  So,  while  his  pen  glided  over  the  white 
page,  bearing  along  in  its  wake  precious  thoughts  for 
his  flock,  she  sat  in  a  low  rocking-chair  in  the  corner, 
busily  making  shirts.  Whenever  Mr.  Maynard's  eye 
glanced  towards  her,  she  had  a  smile  for  him,  though  it 
evidently  lay  only  on  the  surface.  As  she  plied  her 
needle,  her  thoughts  were  of  the  dear,  romantic  little  par- 
sonage of  her  dreams,  with  its  tastefully  arranged  rooms, 
its  embosoming  trees,  and  clustering  vines. 

"How  different,"  thought  she,  "is  a  minister's  lot 
from  what  I  had  imagined  it !  I  almost  wish  William 
had  followed  out  his  first  intention  of  being  a  physician/' 

Thus  the  afternoon  passed  away,  with  many  a  sup- 
pressed sigh  from  Bessie,  which  her  husband  invariably 
caught,  and  faintly  echoed.  Even  with  his  greater 
knowledge  of  life,  and  his  moderate  expectations,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  disappointment.  And  he  felt  deeply 


60  MARION  GRAHAM; 

pained  at  the  unhappiness  with  which  his  wife  was 
straggling. 

The  evening  was  rather  a  silent  one,  and  once  Mr. 
Maynard  detected  Bessie  wiping  away  her  tears,  though 
she  tried  to  look  as  if  she  had  been  doing  no  such  thing. 
As  she  sat  gazing  upon  the  dream-inspiring  coals,  she 
thought  of  her  former  pleasant  home,  hundreds  of  miles 
away.  She  seemed  again  to  look  upon  its  green  sur- 
roundings, and  its  sparkling,  singing  streams,  and  to 
listen  to  the  sweet  bird-music  that  had  charmed  her 
childhood.  In  her  sleep  that  night  she  murmured  her 
mother's  name,  and  when  she  awoke  to  new  encounters 
with  Bridget,  and  new  struggles  with  herself,  the  day's 
possible  troubles  lay  upon  her  brow.  Poor  Bessie! 
She  saw  not  the  Fatherly  hand  that  ordered  her  minut- 
est trial;  she  had  not  yet  learned  the  great  secret  of 
life  —  a  quiet  waiting  upon  God.  She  had  faith  in  his 
kind  providence,  but  it  was  a  general  faith.  She  could 
not  quite  comprehend  how  the  little  disappointments 
and  the  petty  cares  of  daily  life  can  be  included  in  that 
charmed  circle  of  the  "  ah1  things  "  that  "  shall  work  to- 
gether for  good." 

The  sky  was  still  veiled  in  gloom,  the  wind  had  not 
changed,  and  clouds  of  smoke  continued  to  roll  down 
the  parlor  chimney,  and  to  burst  forth  from  every  possi- 
ble avenue.  As  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maynard  sat  at  the  break- 
fast table,  again  laid  in  the  kitchen,  he  noticed  that  she 
had  ceased  even  from  all  attempts  at  cheerfulness.  She 
looked  sad,  disheartened ;  —  as  if  there  were  no  use  in 
trying  to  be  contented. 

"  I  shall  write  again  in  the  front  parlor,  where  I  hope 
you  will  join  me  as  soon  as  you  can ; "  and  his  eyes 
kindly  followed  her. 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  61 

Bessie  went  about  her  morning  duties,  but  it  was  with 
a  dull,  mechanical  air.  Then,  going  into  her  chamber, 
and  throwing  a  shawl  around  her  shoulders,  she  sat 
down  to  read  her  Bible.  But  the  words  were  blurred, 
and  she  turned  over  leaf  after  leaf  without  getting  any 
strength,  or  comfort,  or  even  a  single  idea.  She  suc- 
ceeded no  better  in  prayer,  for  her  thoughts  were  earth- 
bound,  and  the  wings  of  her  faith  fettered.  In  no  wise 
strengthened,  but  with  an  additional  weight  of  self-re- 
proach hanging  about  her,  she  returned  to  her  mechan- 
ical duties. 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor  this  afternoon,  dear  Bes- 
sie?" 

She  looked  up  with  a  faint  attempt  to  smile  her  as- 
sent 

"  I  should  like  to  have  you  call  upon  a  poor  woman 
of  our  parish,  and  inquire  whether  she  is  in  want  of  any 
thing.  I  only  found  her  out  last  week,  and  I  told  her  I 
thought  you  would  call  soon.  I  know  it  is  not  pleas- 
ant," said  he,  noticing  her  glance  at  the  window,  "  but 
perhaps  the  walk  will  do  you  good." 

Although  Bessie  felt  very  little  like  going  out,  yet  as 
she  had  no  good  excuse  for  declining,  she  acceded  to 
his  request ;  and  having  received  directions  to  the  place, 
she  was  soon  on  her  way.  The  air  was  raw  and  pene- 
trating, and  as  she  walked  shivering  along,  her  sense  of 
discomfort  increased.  At  length  she  turned  down  a 
lane,  and,  when  nearly  at  the  foot  of  it,  climbed  a  steep 
little  hill.  Passing  two  or  three  ordinary  houses,  she 
came  to  what,  from  Mr.  Maynard's  description,  she  sup- 
posed must  be  the  dwelling  place  of  Elsie  Green,  or 
"  old  Elsie,"  as  she  was  generally  called.  She  looked 


62  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

at  it  in  astonishment,  incredulous  that  any  human  being 
could  find  shelter  in  that  poor,  barn-like,  tumbling-down 
place.  It  was  a  two-storied  dwelling,  perfectly  crazed 
with  age.  She  placed  one  foot  on  the  flight  of  steps 
leading  to  the  front  door,  but,  as  they  cracked  beneath 
her,  she  feared  to  proceed.  Going  to  one  of  the  houses 
near  by,  she  knocked  at  the  door.  Presently  there  ap- 
peared a  middle-aged  woman,  who,  to  her  inquiry  where 
Elsie  Green  lived,  pointed  to  the  dwelling  she  had  just 
left. 

"  There,  Missus,  up  in  that  ar  second  story.  It's  a 
sightly  place  from  her  windows,  and  old  Elsie'll  be  right 
glad  to  see  ye.  Go  up  the  standard,  and  then  step  over 
the  stairs  lightly,  and  never  fear,"  she  added,  observing 
her  hesitation.  "  Though  it's  a  century  old,  it'll  stand 
for  long  yet." 

Thus  encouraged,  Mrs.  Maynard  again  ventured,  and 
timidly  mounting  the  creaking  stairs,  she  gained  the 
outer  door.  Lifting  the  latch  and  pushing  it  open,  she 
glanced  into  the  deserted  rooms  on  either  hand,  and 
applied  herself  to  the  stair-case.  Taking  hold  of  the 
banisters,  she  carefully  essayed  every  step  till  she  had 
reached  the  top.  Then,  turning  to  the  right,  she  knocked 
at  the  door.  All  was  silence.  She  knocked  again  ; 
still  no  one  came.  She  opened  it  herself,  and  softly 
stepped  in.  Through  the  thick  veil  of  smoke  which 
again  encircled  her,  she  looked  around. 

Upon  the  rusty  andirons  in  the  large,  old-fashioned 
fire-place  were  laid  a  few,  a  very  few  sticks  of  green 
wood,  above  which  hung  a  little  tea-kettle.  The  lack 
of  fire  was  made  up  for  by  the  abundance  of  smoke, 
which  generally  poured  into  the  room,  and  only  by  mis- 
take ascended  the  chimney  where  it  belonged. 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  63 

On  a  low  settle,  such  as  used  to  stand  in  the  kitchens 
of  our  grandmothers,  crouched  over  what  was  intended 
for  the  fire,  sat  a  tall  crone,  who  seemed  like  a  petrified 
specimen  of  antiquity,  that,  by  some  strange  accident, 
had  floated  down  the  stream  of  time.  She  had  heard 
neither  knock  nor  footstep,  and  Mrs.  Maynard  had  an 
opportunity  to  gaze  upon  the  picture  unobserved. 

Old  Elsie  was  dressed  in  a  rusty  bombazet,  scant, 
short-waisted,  and  with  straight,  tight  sleeves.  A  faded 
black  shawl  was  pinned  close  around  her  neck,  and  on 
her  head  sat  a  snuff-colored  turban-steeple.  Her  dry, 
yellow,  leather-skin  was  full  of  deep  furrows,  to  which, 
coarse,  iron-gray  hair  gave  a  still  more  forbidding  as- 
pect. 

On  the  time-worn  brick  hearth,  stretching  out  her  old 
yellow  paws  towards  the  smoking  brands,  lay  her  feline 
companion  —  Miss  Tabitha,  evidently  as  much  of  an 
antique  as  her  mistress.  At  first,  Mrs.  Maynard  was 
equally  repelled  by  them  both.  But  her  dislike  was 
checked  by  observing  Elsie's  eyes  bent  over  a  book, 
which,  with  delight,  she  soon  discovered  to  be  a  copy  of 
the  large,  clear-typed  New  Testament  and  Psalms ;  — 
that  blessing  to  rich  and  to  poor,  to  old  eyes  and  weak 
eyes,  and  near-sighted  eyes,  published  by  the  American 
Bible  Society.  Then  she  heard  the  tremulous  voice  of 
old  Elsie  slowly  reading  to  herself, — 

"  These  things  have  I  spoken  unto  you,  that  in  me  ye 
might  have  peace.  In  the  world  ye  shall  have  tribula- 
tion, but  be  of  good  cheer  ;  I  have  overcome  the  world." 

As  Bessie  drew  near,  Elsie  raised  her  head,  and,  start- 
ing at  the  sight  of  her  visitor,  she  extended  her  withered 
hand  in  cordial  greeting,  and,  bustling  about,  placed  a 
rickety  chair  for  her. 


64  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  How  do  you  do  to-day  ?  "  said  Bessie. 

Three  times  she  was  obliged  to  repeat  her  question 
before  the  old  woman  could  hear. 

"  I'se  very  well,  thanks  to  ye,  and  thank  the  Lord  too. 
But  I  never  saw  yer  young  face  afore." 

"  You  saw  Mr.  Maynard,  the  new  minister,  last  week, 
and  he  told  me  about  you,  and  wished  me  to  call." 

"A  purty  spoken  man,  a  very  purty  spoken  man.  And 
ye'se  his  bride  !  "  said  she  with  a  pleasant  twinkle  of  her 
small  gray  eyes,  at  the  same  time  looking  earnestly  into 
Bessie's  face.  Notwithstanding  her  dull  humor,  and 
her  decidedly  unfavorable  prepossessions,  Mrs.  Maynard 
began  to  feel  a  positive  attraction  towards  poor  Elsie. 

"  How  does  ye  like  here  ?    And  has  ye  a  snug  nest  ?  " 

"  Comfortable  I  thank  you ;  "  and  she  looked  around 
on  Elsie's  dismantled  and  comfortless  room. 

"  Like  enough  ye  think  this  an  old  place,  but  it's  a 
dear  one  to  me,  and  sightly  windows  these,  as  I'll  show 
to  ye  some  lightsome  day,  if  ye'll  come  again  to  see  an 
old  woman." 

Through  large  cracks  in  the  old  creaking  floor,  the 
wind  came  up  in  strong  currents,  and,  through  many 
an  aperture  in  the  discolored,  mouldy  walls,  stole  in 
chilling  blasts.  The  fire,  as  we  have  seen,  was  mostly 
a  pretence,  though  Elsie  and  her  cat  contrived  to  get 
some  warmth  out  of  it.  While  Bessie  was  pondering 
upon  the  enigma  of  Elsie's  evident  contentment,  the  old 
woman  was  doing  her  best  to  entertain  her  visitor.  She 
pointed  to  the  broad  old  mantel-piece,  where  stood  her 
china-establishment ;  —  plates  with  dark  colored  cracks, 
handleless  cups  and  unmated  saucers. 

"  Them  "all  has  their  story,  and  sometime  I'll  tell  it 
to  ye." 

4* 


OH,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  65 

Bessie  took  up  the  well-worn  testament. 

"A  beauty,  isn't  it  ?  And  'twas  gave  to  me  by  a  purty 
behaved  lady  as  iver  ye  see.  And  not  long  arter,  she 
took  wings  and  flew  away  to  heaven  ;  "  and  she  rever- 
ently raised  her  eyes.  "  It's  a  real  comfort  to  sit  here 
and  read  about  that  world  in  Kivelation,  and  to  think 
that  some  day  the  Master5!!  send  for  old  Elsie." 

Bessie  hoped  that  she  too  had  a  home  among  the 
"  many  mansions,"  but  how  unlike  Elsie  did  she  feel 
herself  to  be ! 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  here  alone  ?  " 

A  cloud  passed  over  Elsie's  brow,  and  a  tear  stole 
down  her  withered  cheek. 

"  For  many  a  year,  dear  Miss.  Ever  since  my  man, 
and  a  brave  one  he  was,  laid  down  his  head  under  the 
blue  waters.  My  lad  too,  he  sleeps  along  with  his  sir. 

"  I  was  purty  once,  at  least  they  all  telled  rne  so.  And 
George  Green  sought  me  for  true  love.  But  that  are's 
past  and  gone,"  said  she  with  a  sigh.  "  Well,  'twas  ah1 
for  the  best  And  the  Lord,  —  he  held  the  bitter  cup, 
and  made  it  ee'na'  most  sweet.  He  larnt  me  his  secret, 
and  hid  me  under  his  wings.  Adid  he's  very  kind  to  his 
old  sarvant.  No  poor  critter  iver  had  more  friends. 
They  be'se  all  kind  to  me,  every  one  on  'em.  Some  on 
'em,  to  be  sure,  tried  to  force  a  stove  on  the  poor  old 
body,  but  I  telled  'em  I  couldn't  no  how  stand  that  are. 
Ye  see  I'se  oilers  used  to  the  old  fire-place,  and  it 
stands  me  in  stead  like  a  true  friend,  though  it  does 
smoke  a  leetle  on  times,  —  a  very  leetle,"  she  added,  as 
if  fearful  of  scandalizing  her  Penates.  "And  then  it's  so 
asy  jist  to  clap  on  yer  tea-kittle,  and  so  pleasant-like  to 
hear  it  sing.  Dark  days,  I  oilers  put  mine  on  arly,  it's 
so  cheersome-like  when  ye're  a  little  dull  to  take  an  arly 


66  MARION  GRAHAM: 

cup  o'  tea.  And  it  oilers  makes  me  feel  live-er  and 
strong-like.  And  my  old  Brindy  here,"  she  added 
laughing,  while  she  cast  a  look  of  undisguised  fondness 
towards  the  poor  quadruped,  "  Brindy  likes  her  supper 
arly  as  well  as  me." 

"  Elsie  has  certainly  a  trap  to  catch  sunbeams,"  said 
Bessie  to  herself,  "  aye,  and  she  has  caught  her  trap  full 
too,  and  her  dark,  cobweb-covered,  mouldering  room 
seems  almost  radiant  with  their  light." 

Then  turning  to  Elsie,  — 

"  Is  there  nothing  you  want  ?  " 

"  Thanks  to  ye,  no  indeed,  Miss,  nothin'  but  a  thank- 
ful, lovin'  heart  I've  more  than  enough  for  me  and 
Brindy.  In  the  mornin',  I  takes  a  cup  o'  tea,  and  a 
piece  o'  bread  and  cheese ;  and  in  the  arternoon,  as  now, 
I  takes  another  cup  o'  tea  and  a  piece  o'  cheese  and 
bread,  which  is  every  grain  as  good,"  said  she  laughing ; 
"  and  'tweens  I  most  oilers  have  meat,  or  somethin' 
strong-like  from  the  neighbors.  So  ye  see  I'se  well 
taken  care  of,  and  He,"  looking  devoutly  up,  "  blesses 
me  in  my  soul.  My  dear  ones  are  in  his  land,  and  I'se 
bidin'  my  summons  to  meet  'em.  there.  I'se  sinful 
enough,  I  know  that,"  said  she,  laying  her  hand  on  her 
heart,  "  but  I  does  love  the  Saviour,  and  I  know  he'll 
wash  me  clean  in  his  blood.  Ye  niver  can  do  enough 
for  him,  ye  niver  can  trust  him  too  much,  take  an  old 
•woman's  word  for  that,"  said  Elsie  looking  tenderly  in 
that  sweet  young  face  upturned  to  hers. 

She  laid  her  hard,  bony  hand  on  that  fair  brow,  and 
Bessie  felt  no  shrinking,  but  stood  like  a  child  to  receive 
the  old  woman's  blessing. 

"  The  Lord  be  with  ye,  dear  child,  and  give  ye  a  con- 


OK,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  67 

bless  the  young  minister,  yer  dear  one,  and  make  ye  both 
a  stay  and  a  staff  to  his  people." 

With  misty  eyes,  Mrs.  Maynard  pressed  Elsie's  hand, 
but  could  not  speak  one  word. 

When  she  passed  again  over  the  ancient  staircase, 
she  did  not  once  think  of  the  possibility  of  its  breaking 
down.  Old  Elsie's  sunbeams  had  shone  full  into  her 
heart,  and  she  saw  what  was  hidden  in  its  secret  cor- 
ners. Thoughtfully  she  walked  on  till  she  reached  her 
own  threshold.  How  happy  now  seemed  her  lot,  how 
pleasant  her  home ! 

Gently  opening  the  door  she  stole  into  her  room.  A 
veil  had  been  removed  from  her  eyes.  She  saw  that  she 
herself  had  been  dissevering  the  golden  threads  in  her 
warp  of  life.  She  saw  how  she  had  distrusted  her  great 
Father's  love,  and  rebelled  at  his  providence.  She  wept 
much,  but  those  were  healing  tears.  She  prayed,  and 
this  time  her  prayers  had  wings. 

Bessie  bathed  her  eyes,  and  then  descended  into  the 
room  where  Mr.  Maynard  was  still  writing.  As  he  did 
not  observe  her  entrance,  she  paused  a  moment  to  watch 
the  thoughts  that  flitted  like  blessing-laden  clouds  over 
his  placid  countenance. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  William !  "  And  seating  herself 
on  a  cricket  at  his  feet,  she  laid  her  head  on  his  lap  and 
wept  like  a  penitent  child. 

"  My  precious  Bessie  !  "  And  William  tenderly 
stroked  the  head  of  his  young  wife.  He  had  not  mis- 
judged her.  Without  one  word  of  reproof,  he  had 
shown  her  her  fault,  and  taught  her  a  lesson  more 
precious  to  them  both  than  the  gold  of  Ophir. 

As  her  tears  still  flowed,  it  all  at  once  occurred  to  her 
why  Mr.  Maynard  had  been  so  anxious  she  should  call 


68  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

on  Elsie  Green  this  very  day.  Suddenly  looking  up  in 
his  face,  her  eyes  expressed  this  thought  as  clearly  as 
words  could  have  uttered  it.  And  what  did  his  beam- 
ing eyes  reply  ?  Why,  they  said  as  clearly,  "  You  have 
guessed  right,  dear  Bessie." 

As  a  bright  srrile,  the  first  genuine  one  he  had  seen 
on  her  face  since  the  sun  had  been  veiled  in  gloom,  — 
as  this  bona  fide  smile  played  around  her  mouth,  a  sun- 
beam, suddenly  breaking  from  the  clouds,  shot  through 
the  window  and  lighted  up  her  whole  face.  That  face, 
in  the  eyes  of  her  husband,  seemed  radiant  with  the  soul's 
beauty.  And  from  every  one  of  the  prismatic  tears  still 
lingering  there,  he  saw  beam  out  the  resplendent  colors 
of  hope's  bright  bow.  Nor  was  it  all  an  illusion  of  lov- 
ing eyes,  for  golden  as  the  sunshine,  and  lasting  too,  was 
the  sweet  lesson  which  his  young  wife  had  learned  of 
old  Elsie. 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  She  wearies  with  an  ill  unknown ; 

In  sleep  she  sobs  and  seems  to  float, 
A  water-lily,  all  alone, 

Within  a  lonely  castle-moat." 

WINTER  had  now  set  in.  And  it  found  our  friend  Julia 
still  lingering  in  Glenwood.  She  had  become  so  much 
interested  in  her  studies  and  her  new  manner  of  life,  that 
she  had  written  home  for  permission  to  prolong  her  visit, 
which  was  readily  granted.  Her  airs  were  entirely  laid 
aside,  and  no  longer  top-heavy  with  self-consciousness, 
there  was  room  for  a  better  growth.  Her  feelings,  not 
being  on  the  stretch  for  wherewithal  to  feed  her  vanity, 
had  subsided  into  their  natural  channel.  Enjoying  for 
so  long  a  time  the  cultivated  society  of  her  cousin  and 
her  teacher,  the  whole  tone  of  her  character  was,  in  a 
degree,  elevated.  There  was  not,  to  be  sure,  a  great 
deal  of  her,  but  what  there  was,  had  come  to  be  lova- 
ble. Always  pretty,  her  beauty  was  now  heightened  by 
a  childlike  grace,  and  a  naive  manner,  which  made  her 
at  times  truly  charming. 

Marion  loved  her  with  a  genuine  affection,  and  her 
influence  with  her  was  as  great  as  she  could  desire.  As 
for  Mr.  Vinton,  no  wonder  that  he  regarded  her  with 
peculiar  interest,  since  she  was,  as  it  were,  a  creation  of 
his  own.  And  how  could  he  help  being  flattered  to 
have  so  fairy-like  a  being  sit  at  his  feet,  and  receive 
his  word  as  law  ?  She  was  not,  it  is  true,  capable  of 


70  MATUOX  GRAHAM; 

appreciating  him,  but  she  knew  he  was  a  superior  be- 
ing, and  she  felt  that  he  had  brought  her  into  a  vital 
element,  and  as  it  were  regenerated  her.  Therefore  she 
looked  up  to  him  with  proud  and  grateful  admiration. 
And  he  labored  in  good  faith  for  her  improvement.  She 
continued  to  make  blunders,  but  it  was  with  such  child- 
ish simplicity,  and  she  was  so  willing  to  have  them  cor- 
rected, that  they  would  really  have  been  missed  in  her. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  have  ever  thought  to  order  the 
poems  of '  Fanny  Topsis,' "  said  she  to  Mr.  Vinton  one 
day. 

Maurice  and  Marion  exchanged  a  significant  smile. 

«  What  are  you  both  smiling  at  ?  " 

"  At  the  recollection  of  those  poems.  I  was  quizzing 
you  when  I  consented  to  order  them." 

"  I  didn't  suppose  you  would  quiz  people,"  said  Julia, 
looking  hurt. 

"  I  couldn't  possibly  quiz  you  now,  dear  Julia,  for  you 
are  entirely  changed.  But  I  will  make  full  confession." 
And  going  to  the  book-case,  he  took  down  "  Bryant's 
Poems,"  and  seating  himself  by  Julia,  he  pointed  out  to 
her  the  piece  which  he  had  recited  in  the  woods. 

«  Than-a-top-sis,"  read  she  slowly.  "  What  a  hard 
word ! " 

"  Which  you  understood  as  Fanny  Topsis.  And  as 
you  were  then  in  a  state  of  self-complacency,  we  could 
not  presume  to  correct  you,  and  so  had  to  be  contented 
with  amusing  ourselves  at  your  expense.  Or,  to  speak 
more  accurately,  I  amused  your  cousin  and  myself,  for 
I  bethink  me,  that  she  expostulated  with  me  for  my  of- 
fence. I  was  just  hard-hearted  enough,  however,  to 
continue  sinning,  for  which,  pardon  me." 

"  Willingly,  for  I  know  I  behaved  like  a  simpleton  in 


OB,   HIGHER   THAN  HAPPINESS.  71 

those  days,"  said  Julia,  as  if  years  of  wisdom  had  since 
passed  over  her  young  head.  "  And  I  don't  blame  you 
for  making  fun  of  me." 

"  Pity  that  half  the  world  had  not  your  amiable  dis- 
position, —  myself  into  the  bargain." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  are  amiable,"  exclaimed  Julia, 
as  if  the  thought  had  for  the  first  time  occurred  to  her. 
"  But  you  are  affectionate,  are  you  not  ?  "  and  she  looked 
earnestly  at  him. 

"  Not  over  and  above  so.    What  else  ?  " 

"  Then  your  eyes  are  sometimes  false,  for  I  have " 

"  No  tales  out  of  school,"  said  Maurice  putting  his 
hand  over  her  lips,  as  he  saw  that  she  was  venturing  on 
dangerous  ground.  "  Besides,  we  have  strayed  from 
our  subject.  We  were  about  to  discuss  this  poem." 

"  What's  the  need  of  using  such  big  words  ?  "  and 
she  turned  over  the  leaves  of  Worcester's  Dictionary,  as 
he  had  counselled  her  to  do,  when  she  found  words  she 
could  not  understand. 

"  For  their  big  meaning,  I  presume.  But  you  will 
never  find  it  there,  little  Jule." 

"  Not  find  it  in  all  this  monstrous  book  ?  " 

"  Nay,  for  it  is  not  an  Anglican,  I  should  say,  an  Eng- 
lish, word,  or  you  will  be  finding  fault  with  me." 

"  I  do  think  you  and  Marion  are  famous  for  using 
great  words.  Why,  when  you  are  talking  together,  I 
can't  understand  half  you  say.  I  often  fancy  it  might 
be  two  professors  discussing  mathematics  or  heresies." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  heresies  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  I  only  remember  hearing 
you  once  say  to  Marion  that  she  would  think  you  were 
fond  of  heresies,  but  I  hadn't  the  smallest  idea  what  you 
meant." 


72  MARION   GRAHAM; 

«  You  yourself  are  a  dear  little  heretic,  just  from  the 
schools." 

"  Is  that  a  bad  name  he  is  calling  me,  Marion  ?  " 

"  Not  as  he  used  it  then  ;  but  you  are  very  close  in 
your  questions." 

"  Now  about  this  long,  stupid  word.  If  it  is  not  Eng- 
lish, what  is  it  ?  " 

"  To  answer  you,  I  must  talk  learnedly.  It  is  com- 
pounded of  two  Greek  words,  —  thanatos,  —  meaning 
death,  and  apsis,  —  vision  or  sight ;  and  was  manufac- 
tured, I  presume,  by  the  poet  himself,  as  an  appropriate 
title  for  his  piece." 

"  I  shan't  remember  any  thing,  only  that  it  means 
something  about  death.  But  I  have  forgotten  the  piece. 
Won't  you  read  it  loud  ?  " 

He  complied.     And  when  he  came  to  those  lines,  — 

"  So  shalt  thou  rest.     And  what  if  them  shalt  fall 
Unnoticed  by  the  living  —  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?  "  — 

he  fixed  his  eyes  on  Marion  with  such  a  mournful  ex- 
pression, that  tears  sprang  to  hers. 

"  It  is  truly  a  wonderful  poem,"  said  she,  controlling 
herself.  "  But,  for  some  reason,  it  is  not  quite  satisfac- 
tory." 

"  Not  from  any  want  of  truth  ?  " 

"  No,  but  it  wants  something" 

"  Cannot  you  put  that  want  into  words  ?  " 

"  It  seems  pervaded  with  too  profound  a  gloom.  The 
Christian  element  would  brighten  and  redeem  it," 

"  You  do  not  call  it  wwchristian  ?  " 

"  Far  from  it.     And  that  expression, — 

'  Sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,' 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  73 

may  have  great  significance  ;  yet  I  wish  it  was  more  ex- 
plicit. The  subject  is  dark  enough,  but  I  don't  like  to 
have  it  presented  so  negatively,  when  the  positive  side 
is  full  of  consolation." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  positive  side  ?  "  said  he, 
looking  at  her  searchingly. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  she,  returning  his  earnest  glance, 
"  there  can  be  but  one  bright  side  of  the  grave,  —  a  glo- 
rious immortality.  And  of  that,  the  poem  is  entirely 
silent." 

"  Do  you  consider  Bryant  an  unbeliever  therefore  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  indeed !  "  answered  she  with  eagerness.  "  His 
poem  '  To  a  Waterfowl '  is  not  the  language  of  one 
without  faith." 

"  Do  you  recall  any  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  can  repeat  the  last  stanza. 

4  He,  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 
Will  lead  my  steps  aright' 

"  One  who  could  write  that  poem  from  the  heart,  could 
not  possibly  be  an  unbeliever." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  the  different  spirit  of  the 
last  piece  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  may  have  been  in  a  melancholy  mood, 
and  unable  to  see  the  bright  side  of  his  subject." 

"  What  if  that  had  been  his  perpetual  mood  ?  " 

u  He  would  have  been  a  very  ungrateful  and,  I  fear, 
naughty  man,"  said  she  smiling,  "  and  I  should  not  love 
him  half  so  well  as  now.  But  I  cannot  understand 
where  you  wish  to  land  me.  And  then  your  reasoning 
ia  in  the  Socratic  fashion,  and  I  always  had  a  dread  of 
being  catechized." 


74  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  so  very  formidable  after  all.  But 
here  is  our  little  friend,  as  demure  as  possible.  How  do 
you  like  the  poem,  Miss  Julia  ?  " 

"  Not  half  so  well  as  I  did  before  ;  not  at  all,  indeed  ;  " 
said  she  with  the  gravest  face.  "  What's  the  need  ot 
funeral  hymns  when  we  are  all  well  and  happy  ?  For 
my  part,  I  think  it  is  wrong  to  be  gloomy,  and  I  wish 
you  did." 

«  You  wish  I  did?" 

"  Yes,  for  you  sometimes  get  on  real  long  faces,  and 
then  Marion  catches  them,  and  they  last  a  great  while, 
even  after  you  are  gone.  And  at  such  times  I  can't 
make  her  laugh  or  talk,  but  she  looks  into  the  fire  and 
sighs  as  if  she  had  the  blues." 

"  I  ought  certainly  to  make  atonement  for  setting  so 
bad  an  example,"  replied  he,  glancing  at  Marion,  to 
whose  face  Julia's  unconscious  words  had  sent  the  blood 
in  one  rushing  tide.  He  saw  that  she  was  pained  at 
the  exposure,  —  that  she  could  scarcely  restrain  her  vexa- 
tion, and  it  made  his  heart  beat  quicker.  But,  intent  on 
her  relief,  without  appearing  to  notice  her  confusion,  he 
continued  addressing  Julia,  "  I  cannot  allow  you  to 
pronounce  me  a  gloomy  man." 

Then,  with  his  wonderful  power  of  transition,  he  com- 
menced so  amusing  a  story,  that  his  auditors  were  soon 
sending  forth  the  merriest  peals  of  laughter. 

"  Don't  you  think  Mr.  Vinton  is  an  astonishing  man  ?  " 
said  Julia  after  he  had  left. 

"In  what  respect?" 

"  In  every  respect  I  never  saw  anybody  like  him, 
did  you  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly." 

"  How  provoking  you  are  to  give  me  such  answers ! " 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  75 

"  But  you  tell  tales,  cousin  Julia,  and  that  vexes  me." 

"  Did  I  vex  you  by  what  I  said  about  your  long  face  ? 
I'm  sorry  if  I  did,  and  I  won't  do  so  again.  But  will 
what  I  told  him  do  any  harm  ?  " 

"  You  meant  no  harm,  dear ;  but  that's  enough ;  — 
your  eyes  ought  to  be  closed  by  this  time.  Good 
night," 

"  Good-night,  Marie.  I  can't  imagine  how  you  like 
to  sit  up  here  all  alone."  And  she  tripped  away,  hum- 
ming gayly  to  herself. 

Then  Marion  drew  her  arm-chair  close  before  the  fire, 
and  settled  herself  for  that  indescribable  thing,  —  a 
maiden's  reverie.  In  such  a  mood,  how  does  thought 
wander  up  and  down,  and  back  and  forth,  hiving  its 
hoard  of  bitterness,  as  well  as  of  sweets.  An  unpleasant 
recollection  will  lash  the  soul  to  agony  ;  and  anon,  some 
sudden  remembrance  will  drop  upon  it  the  healing  balm 
of  hope,  or  the  sweeter  one  of  bliss.  Thus  it  often  was 
with  Marion.  But  Julia's  tell-taling  had  now  brought 
her  into  unwonted  agitation  ;  and  this  time  her  reverie 
was  woven  of  bitter  rather  than  of  sweet  imagin- 
ings. 

"  What  must  he  think  of  me  ?  "  was  her  soliloquy. 
"And  yet  he  did  not  seem  to  heed  her  remark.  Perhaps 
he  thought  nothing  about  it.  But  how  could  he  help 
noticing  my  burning  cheek  ?  Yet  why  should  I  care  ? 
What  is  his  opinion  to  me  ?  " 

Notwithstanding  the  want  of  any  positive  assurance 
from  Maurice,  there  were  times  when  Marion  could  not 
doubt  his  interest.  But  again  his  manner  was  stern 
and  cold.  He  grew  more  and  more  incomprehensible, 
and,  in  some  respects,  unsatisfactory.  It  must  also  be 
admitted  that  her  conscience  was  not  quite  at  ease. 


76  MARION  GKAHAM; 

For,  in  their  many  conversations,  that  which  most  deeply 
concerned  them  both  found  little  place.  As  a  scholar 
and  a  gentleman,  he  was  all  which  her  heart  could  de- 
sire. He  made  no  pretensions,  how-ever,  to  a  personal  in- 
terest in  the  Kedeemer ;  that  is,  he  preserved  an  unbroken 
silence  on  that  subject.  And  she  could  not  escape  self- 
reproach  that  she  had  not  been  more  true  to  her  own 
sentiments,  —  that  she  had  not  exhibited  before  him 
more  distinctly  the  life  of  religion.  Her  reverence  for 
him,  indeed,  was  so  great  that  she  felt  as  if  any  effort 
for  his  benefit  would  be  presumption.  Yet  she  was  dis- 
satisfied with  herself  and  with  him.  She  questioned 
whether  it  were  right  for  a  man  of  such  commanding 
abilities,  to  turn  them  to  no  higher  account.  Yet  what 
influence  could  she  hope  to  exert  ? 


The  next  time  Mr.  Vinton  called,  he  found  Julia  alone 
in  the  parlor,  and,  going  to  the  bay  window  where  she 
was  sitting,  he  placed  himself  beside  her. 

"  Little  Jule,"  said  he,  "  you  did  not  tell  me  after  all, 
what  makes  you  think  I  am  affectionate." 

"Because  you  wouldn't  let  me.  You  stopped  my 
mouth." 

"  Well,  I  will  let  you  now." 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  not  to  tell  you." 

"Please  do." 

"  You  can  behave  prettily  when  you  choose.  Well, 
as  you  are  now  good,  I  will  reward  you  by  saying  that 
I  have  seen  you  give  Marion  a  great  many  looks." 

"  What  looks  ?  " 

"Why,  love-looks  of  course,  as  if  you  were  very  affec- 
tionate." 


OR,    HHMIKK    THAN    HAPPINESS.  77 

"  And  so  have  I  looked  at  you  affectionately,  have  I 
not  ?  " 

"  Not  as  you  have  at  her,"  and  she  tossed  her  head 
as  if  she  hoped  he  would  believe  she  did  know  a  thing 
or  two. 

"  She  is  older  than  you,  and  I  have  known  her  longer/' 

"  You  can't  deceive  me.  I  see  some  things,  if  I  don't 
others." 

"  Well,  Julia,"  and  he  spoke  seriously,  "  such  talk 
would  displease  your  cousin.  For  her  sake,  I  hope  you 
will  not  allow  yourself  to  make  any  more  such  re- 
marks." 

"  Dear  me  !  what  a  trouble  I  am  !  The  other  even- 
ing, I  made  Marion  ever  so  unhappy  by  what  I  said 
about  her  catching  your  long  face.  But  it  was  all  true, 

and  don't  you  think,  one  day  after  you  had  gone,  she 

» 

"  Hush,  Julia  !  "  interrupted  he,  honorably  resisting 
his  strong  desire  to  know  what  she  had  to  say,  "  it  would 
not  be  right  for  me  to  hear  what  your  cousin  would  not 
wish  you  to  repeat.  And  you  had  better  not  say  any 
thing  about  this  conversation  to  her." 

"  You  and  Marie  are  the  queerest  folks  I  ever  saw. 
But  I  won't  say  any  thing,  if  you  don't  wish  me  to." 

At  this  unfortunate  moment  Marion  opened  the  door. 
Maurice  seemed  less  self-possessed  than  usual,  and 
very  naturally,  for  he  was  conscious  that  appearances 
were  suspicious.  And  Julia  looked  as  if  she  were  tri- 
umphing in  the  possession  of  some  pleasant  secret. 
Marion's  presence  was  so  evidently  mal-apropos,  that 
she  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  Maurice  stepped 
forward,  saying  earnestly,  and  with  manifest  sin- 
cerity, — 


78  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  I  have  been  bestowing  some  of  my  wonted  counsels 
on  Julia.  But  we  are  through,  and  I  am  ready  to  com- 
mence '  The  Ancient  Mariner '  as  proposed,  provided 
you  are  now  at  liberty." 

Marion  was  only  in  part  relieved,  but,  not  wishing 
him  to  read  her  suspicions,  she  readily  assented  to  his 
proposition.  So  they  gathered  round  the  cheerful  fire- 
side, Maurice  reading  while  the  young  ladies  worked. 
Julia  was  embroidering  in  worsted,  consequently  her 
thoughts  were  divided  between  whispered  "  one  —  two 
—  three  —  four,"  and  Coleridgian  stanzas.  Or  rather 
they  were  pretty  much  absorbed  in  the  handsome  pat- 
tern before  her. 

But  Marion  was  making  shirts  for  her  father,  being 
mostly  guiltless  of  such  elegant  embroideries.  She  pre- 
ferred to  devote  her  leisure  to  higher  arts,  feeling  little 
ambition  to  perpetuate  her  fame  in  worked  canvas,  at 
the  expense  of  ruined  eyes. 

"  I  can't  see  any  sense  in  that  strange  piece,"  ex- 
claimed Julia,  when  he  had  completed  it. 

"  You  find  more  beauty  in  your  own  handiwork,  do 
you  not  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  I  do,"  replied  she  smiling.  "  But  really, 
I  can't  understand  what  he  means." 

"  Suppose  I  should  recommend  some  less  absorbing 
work  while  you  are  listening  to  reading." 

"  J  don't  like  plain  sewing." 

"  Would  you  have  any  objections  to  hemming  me 
some  handkerchiefs  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed.     I  should  be  delighted  to  do  it." 

"  Then  I  will  straightway  procure  a  dozen,  and  give 
you  the  delight  of  hemming  them." 

"  Good ! "  cried  she,  "  but  how  soon  ?  " 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  79 

"  To-morrow.  On  the  condition,  however,  that  they 
shall  be  reserved  to  occupy  your  hands  when  I  am  read- 
ing loud.  Then  your  mind  will  be  at  liberty." 

"  Oh,  but  I  shall  be  thinking  about  the  handkerchiefs 
and  about  you." 

"  And  so  lose  all  the  benefit  of  my  readings  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  one  can't  attend  to  the  same  thing 
the  whole  time,"  said  she  holding  up  her  work  before 
him.  "  Now  isn't  that  lovely  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  lovely,  —  a  great  deal  lovelier 
than  poetry,  eh,  Julia  ?  " 

"  But  I  do  like  some  poetry." 

"  Such  as  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  —  let  me  think  ;  —  I  don't  remember  names, 

—  but  you  know  I  like  several  things  you  have  read, 
and,  —  why,  almost  all  the  popular  songs,  —  and  besides, 

—  well,  —  every  thing  that  is  lively  and  funny." 
"  You  certainly  have  a  highly  poetical  taste." 

"  Now  please  don't  quiz  me,  for  I  haven't  been  pre- 
tending at  all.  And  you  do  like  me,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Most  undeniably,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  I  am 
so  anxious  for  your  improvement." 

"  Well,  I  am  improving  as  fast,  I  think,  as  ought 
to  be  expected  of  a  spoiled  child.  But  I  must 
get  some  more  worsteds ; "  and  she  ran  up  stairs  for 
them. 

"  Well,  Miss  Graham,"   and   his   tone   immediately 
changed  from  a  patronizing  fondness  to  a  manifest  re- 
spectfulness;   "rny  little    pupil  seems   to   find  neithe 
rhyme  nor  reason  in  this  piece." 

His  manner,  from  the  contrast,  seemed  almost  formal, 
and  Marion  was  a  little  hurt ;  but  she  replied,  — 

ohe  has  been  so  entirely  unaccustomed  to  protracted 


80  MAIIION    GllAHAM; 

attention,  that  she  does  not  easily  seize  the  burden  of  a 
long  poem.  And  yet  in  some  cases  her  perceptions  are 
very  quick." 

"And  she  has  a  wonderful  faculty  of  making  her  ig- 
norance attractive." 

"Are  you  talking  about  me  ?  "  asked  Julia,  breaking 
in  upon  him. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Oh,  because  you  spoke  of  'her  ignorance;'  and 
whom  else  could  you  mean  but  poor  little  me  ?  But 
I  must  finish  this  darling  leaf  to  show  you  before  you 
go.  One,  two,  three,  four." 

"  Five,  six,  seven,  eight.  The  '  darling  leaf '  must  re- 
main till  I  come  again,"  said  Maurice,  taking  out  his 
watch  and  rising  to  leave. 


OK,   HJGHEll   THAN   HAPPINESS.  81 


CHAPTEE    VIII. 

"  Her  look,  her  love,  her  form,  her  touch, 

The  least  seemed  most  by  blissful  turn,  -  - 
Blissful  but  that  it  pleased  too  much, 
And  taught  the  wayward  soul  to  yearn." 

"  WHY  do  you  never  ask  Marion  to  play  on  the 
guitar,  Mr.  Vinton  ?  "  said  Julia  to  him  one  evening. 

"Hush,  Julia!" 

"  I  shan't  hush,  need  I,  Mr.  Vinton,  when  I  know  how 
well  she  plays  ?  I  asked  Marion  once,  and  she  sup- 
posed it  was  because  you  had  no  ear  for  music.  But 
what  is  your  reason  ?  " 

He  gave  a  peculiar  smile  as  he  replied,  — 

"  Really,  I  hardly  know  how  to  answer  your  question. 
Partly,  I  presume,  because  we  have  always  had  so  many 
other  things  on  hand  that  I  have  not  felt  the  want  of 
it ;  and  partly,  I  am  afraid  I  must  admit,  because,  never 
having  happened  to  hear  her,  I  was  not  aware  that  she 
played;  although  from  seeing  the  instrument,  I  might 
have  inferred  it." 

"  Very  poor  reasons,  I  think." 

"  I  agree  with  you.  But  I  trust  your  cousin  will  not 
punish  me  for  my  thoughtlessness  by  depriving  me  of  a 
great  pleasure." 

"  Not  if  you  are  in  earnest.  But  I  really  supposed 
you  had  no  fondness  for  music." 

"  And  was  therefore  '  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and 


82  MA1MOX   GHAHAM; 

spoils?'  A  severe,  though  perhaps  logical  conclusion, 
but  will  you  not  play  and  sing  for  me  ?  " 

And  rising  he  brought  her  guitar. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  feel  obliged,  in  courtesy,  to  ask  me." 

"  I  never  do  any  thing  from  mere  courtesy.  But  I 
can  say  more.  In  the  Elysian  hours  I  have  passed  un- 
der this  roof,  I  entirely  forgot  there  was  still  another 
source  of  exquisite  pleasure  which  you  perhaps  could 
furnish.  This  may  seem  strange,  yet  I  trust  you  will 
not  regard  it  as  an  unwelcome  truth." 

He  said  this  in  an  undertone,  but  with  so  marked  a 
manner,  that  her  face  was  suffused  with  blushes,  which 
she  tried  to  conceal  by  bending  over  her  instrument  as 
she  carelessly  struck  the  cords.  Maurice  sat  in  silence, 
evidently  awaiting  a  song  ;  and  after  a  little  preluding, 
she  turned  to  Julia,  saying,  — 

"What  shall  it  be?" 

"  I  think  he  will  like  'Auld  Robin  Gray.'  " 

When  she  commenced,  there  was  a  slight  tremor  in 
her  voice,  but  it  only  added  to  the  effect  of  the  song. 
By  what  strange  electricity  did  Marion  at  once  divine 
the  emotion  of  Maurice  as  he  sat  drinking  in  her  mu- 
sic ?  When  she  had  completed  the  piece,  he  simply 
said  as  if  to  himself,  — 

"And  all  this  time  I  have  never  heard  you  sing !  One 
more,  will  you  not  ?  " 

And  she  played  and  sang  another,  and  yet  another, 
and  another ;  and  still  he  was  unsatisfied.  At  length 
Marion  stopped  short  in  the  midst  of  a  lively  air,  ex- 
claiming, — 

"  I  am  as  inconsiderate  as  you  say  you  have  been,  for 
I  am  sure  you  sing  also ;  indeed  I  remember  to  have 
beard  Bessie  say  you  did." 


OK,    IIIGHEIl    THAN    HAPPINESS.  83 

With  a  smile  he  replied, — 

"  I  will  accompany  you  if  you  wish.  Will  you  take 
the  Scotch  ballad  again  ?  " 

In  tones  of  the  richest  melody,  his  deep  voice  blended 
with  hers  as  they  went  through  the  touching  song. 
Then,  with  a  glowing  face,  Marion  emphatically  re- 
peated his  words,  — 

"  And  all  this  time  I  have  never  heard  you  sing  ! " 

"  We  will  take  our  revenge  on  each  other  by  an  extra 
quantity  of  music." 

And  they  sang  several  pieces  together,  Marion  play- 
ing the  accompaniment.  At  length  she  requested  him 
to  sing  something  alone. 

"  If  you  wish,"  replied  he,  to  her  surprise  taking  up 
the  guitar  she  had  laid  aside.  Striking  the  chords  with 
a  master's  hand,  he  commenced  :  — 

"  Ye  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around 
The  castle  o'  Montgomery." 

As,  with  the  most  simple  accompaniment,  he  sang 
through  this  inimitable  piece,  Marion  felt  almost  as  if 
she  had  never  heard  music  before.  She  sat  spell-bound. 
And  when  he  came  to  the  last  verse,  her  tears  could  no 
longer  be  restrained.  After  the  song  had  ceased,  there 
was  unbroken  silence.  Julia  had  learned  that  there 
were  times  when  her  prattle  was  unwelcome  ;  besides, 
she  was  a  good  deal  affected.  And  Maurice  was  un- 
willing to  lose  the  luxury  of  witnessing  the  emotion  he 
had  excited.  After  a  time,  however,  he  struck  up  a 
spirited  air  which  partly  diverted  Marion's  feelings. 

"  I  never  heard  '  Highland  Mary '  before,"  said  she 
during  a  pause.  "  Why  is  it  that  we  have  so  little  of 
such  music  in  these  days  ?  " 


84  MAKION  GRAHAM; 

"  I  suppose  because  of  the  depreciation  in  the  litera- 
ture of  song,  as  well  as  in  other  things.  Many  of  the 
pieces  now  set  to  music  are  miserable  trash,  without 
either  sense  or  rhythm.  Of  the  good  old  songs  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  get  a  copy.  In  these  days,  if  a 
young  lady  is  requested  to  sing  '  Oft  in  the  Stilly 
Night,'  '  Bonnie  Doon,'  '  Scots  wha  hae,'  or  other  of 
the  old-fashioned,  simple,  standard  airs,  she  will  often 
reply  with  a  shrug,  '  Dear  me,  that  is  passe  ! '  And  in 
their  stead,  she  will  give  you  the  silliest  French  or  Ital- 
ian love-songs,  or  some  miserable  imitations  of  opera- 
airs.  By  the  by,  how  do  you  like  opera-music  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  whether  I  ought  to  have  an  opinion,  for  the 
only  specimens  I  have  heard  were  from  young  ladies  just 
graduated  at  a  fashionable  school.  Judging  by  these, 
I  should  say  it  was  an  elaborate  sham,  a  most  preten- 
tious affectation  of  music.  Julia,  however,  seems  very 
fond  of  it" 

"  It  is  perfectly  splendid,"  said  Julia.  «  But,  Mr.  Vin- 
ton,  have  you  ever  heard  Jenny  Lind  ?  " 

He  bowed  an  assent. 

"  Then  don't  you  think  Marion  is  to  be  dreadfully 
pitied  for  not  having  had  that  pleasure  ?  " 

"  She  is  somewhat  entitled  to  our  commiseration,  I 
admit,"  replied  he  smiling. 

"  Isn't  Jenny  perfectly  divine  in  her  opera-songs  ?  " 

"  She  is  charming,  assuredly.  But  at  the  risk  of  Ju- 
lia's astonishment,"  added  he  turning  to  Marion,  "  I 
must  own  that  I  preferred  her  in  the  simple  Scotch  bal- 
lad, and  perhaps  still  more  in  that  grand  anthem,  '  I 
know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,'  though  its  impression 
is  one  of  profound  melancholy." 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  85 

"  How  is  that  possible  ?  "  inquired  Marion,  but  as  she 
spoke,  Julia  broke  forth  impatiently,  — 

"  Oh,  how  could  you  like  those  best  ?  But  anyhow,  I 
hope  you  don't  mean  to  deny  that  you  were  enchanted 
also  with  her  opera-songs  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  Julia.  I  could  not  listen  to  such  billows 
of  melody  without  being  '  enchanted.'  " 

"  As  I  have  been  rashly  drawn  into  giving  my  own 
crude  impressions,"  said  Marion,  "  I  think  I  am  entitled 
to  your  opinion  of  opera-music." 

"  You  shall  have  it  then.  In  respect  to  those  mis- 
erable affectations,  those  heart-rending  vocal  exercises 
which,  in  common  parlance,  pass  for  opera-music,  we 
certainly  do  not  differ.  But  when  well  executed,  it  is 
highly  effective,  especially  to  an  ear  somewhat  accus- 
tomed to  it.  I  decidedly  prefer  it,  however,  without  the 
theatrical  accompaniments ;  which,  most  unfortunately 
for  genuine  lovers  of  music,  have  become  installed  as  a 
part  of  the  regular  opera.  When  last  in  the  city,  I  at- 
tended a  Concert  of  the  Philharmonic  Society,  in  which 
Grisi  sang.  It  was  certainly  one  of  the  finest  I  ever 
heard.  The  rich  orchestral  music,  the  ravishing  tones  of 
the  singer,  now  trilling  gracefully  as  a  bird  through  the 
most  intricate  passages ;  and  then,  in  some  simple  minor 
strain,  sad  and  touching  as  the  dying  notes  of  the  swan, 
—  all  this  was  most  entrancing.  And  I  am  sure,  Miss 
Graham,  if  you  could  only  hear  a  good  specimen,  you 
would  be  won  over." 

"  Can  you  not  give  me  that  (  specimen  ?  '  " 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  he  shaking  his  head.  "  But,  Julia, 
don't  you  know  any  opera-songs  ?  " 

"  I  neither  sing  nor  play." 


86  MARION  GRAHAM; 

«  How  is  that  ?  " 

"Because  I  wouldn't  learn.  But  do  try  to  give 
cousin  Marie  a  song." 

After  a  little  thought  he  complied,  and,  with  perfect 
ease,  sang  through  the  beautiful  "  Spirito  g-entil"  As 
Marion  listened,  all  her  prejudices  melted  away.  She 
was  not  only  astonished  by  his  brilliant  execution,  but 
was  charmed  by  the  compass  and  flexibility  of  his 
voice.  And  her  countenance  fully  expressed  her  satis- 
faction. 

"  There,  I  knew  it  would  be  so,"  exclaimed  Julia  with 
triumph.  "  She's  just  as  delighted  as  she  can  be.  Do 
sing  another." 

With  a  brief  prelude  he  again  commenced.  Marion 
listened  eagerly  as  the  sweet  and  irresistibly  touching 
melody  rose  softly  on  the  air.  It  was  the  song  to  Le- 
nora,  "  Ah  !  die  la  morte"  from  the  Tower-scene  in  "  ft 
Trovatore"  She  did  not  lose  a  note,  but  sat  enraptured, 
delicious  tears  quietly  stealing  to  her  eyes  while  the  sad 
tones  swelled  and  died  away. 

"  You  have  converted  me,"  said  she  smiling  through 
her  tears. 

"  I  was  sure  of  you  from  the  beginning,  for  some  of 
our  most  familiar  as  well  as  sweetest  melodies  are  found 
in  opera-pieces.  '  'Tis  the  last  rose  of  summer,'  for  in- 
stance, is  in  Flotow's  '  Martha.' " 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  prefer  this  kind  of  music  ?  " 

"  My  own  taste  leans  rather  to  a  different  style. 
Beethoven,  with  his  wild  storms  of  feeling,  is  one  of  my 
greatest  favorites.  As  for  '  Mozart's  Requiem,'  it  is  be- 
yond all  praise  ;  —  completely  subduing,  completely  sat- 
isfying. But  I  cultivated  the  operatic  style,  to  please 
my  uncle,  who  was  passionately  fond  of  it.  I  have 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  87 

scarcely  sung  at  all  since  his  death,"  he  added  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Ten  o'clock,  and  no  German  to-night!  That  is  first 
rate,"  exclaimed  Julia,  "  and  it  all  comes  from  my  pro- 
posing that  you  should  ask  Marion  to  play  and  sing.  I 
only  wish  I  had  done  so  before." 

"  I  wish  so  too,  yet  not  for  the  sake  of  forgetting  Ger- 
man. The  spell  of  music  has  certainly  been  upon  us. 
Miss  Graham,"  he  rarely  addressed  her  except  thus  for- 
mally, "  will  you  learn  '  Highland  Mary  ? ' " 

"  I  will  try,  though  I  have  not  much  hope  of  success." 

"  You  are  just  the  one  to  succeed.  I  will  bring  you 
my  copy,  for,  though  a  very  old  one,  I  doubt  whether  I 
could  procure  another." 

"  And  will  you  assist  me  in  learning  '  Ah !  che  la 
morte  ? ' " 

"  With  pleasure." 

"  And  with  encouragement  of  success  in  that  also  ?  " 

"  Without  a  doubt." 

From  this  time,  music  was  installed  as  one  of  their 
familiar  pleasures.  It  was  an  added  link  between  them, 
perhaps  of  too  dangerous  sweetness. 

A  blustering  day  in  mid  December.  Marion  sat  in  an 
arm-chair,  while  Julia  was  on  a  tabouret  at  her  feet. 
She  was  prattling  of  the  wonderful  improvements  she 
was  going  to  make  in  her  city-life  on  her  return  home, 
when  Polly,  the  housekeeper,  came  in  and  held  out  a 
letter  before  her,  saying,  — 

"  John  just  brought  this  from  the  office." 

She  clapped  her  hands  as  she  looked  at  the  inscription. 

"  It's  from  dear  papa.  Isn't  he  good  when  he  hates 
to  write  so  ? " 


88  MARION  GKAHAM; 

But  as  she  read,  her  face  lengthened,  and  the  tears 
began  to  drop. 

"What  is  it,  darling?" 

"O  Marion,  how  can  I  leave  you?  He  says  he  can't 
possibly  spare  me  any  longer,  and  that  I  must  come 
home  before  the  Christmas  holidays." 

As  she  was  speaking,  Mr.  Vinton  was  ushered  in. 
She  removed  her  seat  to  his  side,  while  she  told  him  of 
the  unwelcome  summons. 

"  And  I'm  afraid  I  can't  be  good  any  more." 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  head,  while  his  countenance 
expressed  sincere  regret. 

"  I  am  glad  you  feel  sorry,  but  I  know  you  will  ad- 
vise me  to  comply  with  my  father's  wishes." 

"  Certainly  ;  yet  we  shall  sorely  miss  you." 

"And  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  without  you. 
But  then,  if  I  must  go,  it  will  be  delightful  to  see  dear 
papa  again,  and  to  ride  round  the  city  ;  "  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  as  sundry  bright  visions  flitted  before  her. 

The  parting  day  came,  and  it  proved  like  several  of 
the  preceding,  —  an  uncomfortable,  drizzly  day.  A  jun- 
ior partner  of  her  father's,  who  had  been  sent  to  accom- 
pany Julia,  stood  waiting  at  the  carriage  door. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Marie,"  and  she  threw  her  arms 
around  her  neck,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  Good-by,  my  fairy !  Don't  forget  to  write  to  me ; " 
and  Maurice  imprinted  a  kiss  on  her  forehead,  while 
glittering  drops  stood  on  her  lashes. 

"  You  are  shivering  with  cold,  Miss  Graham,"  said 
Maurice  as  he  stood  gazing  after  the  receding  car- 
riage. He  closed  the  door,  but  she  made  no  reply.  A 
chill  had  struck  to  her  heart.  Looking  at  her  sorrowful 
face,  he  said,  — 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  89 

"  It  is  hard  to  part  with  dear  little  Jule.  She  is  really 
charming.  Since  she  took  nature  for  her  guide,  she 
wins  her  way  everywhere." 

"  Everywhere  indeed  !  "  thought  Marion ;  but  she 
controlled  herself  and  replied,  — 

"  It  is  indeed  very  lonely  without  her." 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  any  thing  towards  supplying  her 
place,"  and  he  looked  at  her  so  kindly  that  tears  filled 
her  eyes. 

"  Miss  Graham,"  —  he  hesitated,  and  then,  forcing 
back  the  dangerous  words,  he  simply  inquired,  — 

"  Shall  I  come  and  read  to  you  this  evening  ?  " 

It  was  a  long,  long  day.  But  the  sun  at  length  had 
set,  and  night  enfolded  the  earth  in  her  sable  garments. 
Marion  sat  listening  for  the  well-known  step,  yet  started 
nervously  when  she  heard  it,  and  wished  that  Julia  were 
back  again. 

"What  shall  I  read?" 

"  Will  you  not  select  ?  " 

Taking  up  a  book  which  lay  on  the  table,  — 

"  Well,  the  fates  have  decided  for  me.  I  will  read  in 
'  Sartor  Resartus,'  only  you  shall  choose  the  passages." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Ah !  but  you  have  already  done  it.  I  shall  take  those 
you  have  marked." 

She  little  knew  how  he  was  battling  his  own  spirit 
as  he  playfully  commenced  reading : 

"  Will  the  whole  finance-ministers  and  upholsterers 
and  confectioners  of  modern  Europe,  undertake,  in  joint- 
stock  company,  to  make  one  shoe-black  happy  ?  They 
cannot  accomplish  it  above  an  hour  or  two ;  for  the 
shoe-black  also  has  a  soul  quite  other  than  his  stomach  ; 


90  MARION   GRAHAM: 

and  would  require  for  his  permanent  satisfaction  and 
saturation,  simply  this  allotment,  no  more  and  no  less : 
—  God's  infinite  universe  altogether  to  himself,  therein  to 
enjoy  infinitely  and  fill  every  wish  as  fast  as  it  rose. 
Oceans  of  Hochheimer,  a  throat  like  that  of  Ophiuchus  ! 
speak  not  of  them ;  to  the  infinite  shoe-black,  they  are 
as  nothing.  No  sooner  is  your  ocean  filled,  than  he 
grumbles  that  it  might  have  been  of  better  vintage.  Try 
him  with  half  a  universe,  he  sets  to  quarrelling  with  the 
proprietor  of  the  other  half,  and  declares  himself  the 
most  maltreated  of  men.  Always  there  is  a  black  spot 
in  our  sunshine ;  it  is  even  as  I  said,  the  shadow  of  our- 
selves" 

" '  The  shadow  of  ourselves}  —  there  is  no  doubt  of 
that,"  said  Maurice  with  bitterness,  abruptly  closing  the 
book. 

Marion's  interest  was  aroused,  and  she  asked,  — 

"  Will  you  not  read  the  next  marked  passage  ?  " 

Opening  again,  he  read,  — 

"  Fancy  that  thou  deservest  to  be  hanged  (as  is  most 
likely),  and  thou  wilt  feel  it  happiness  to  be  only  shot ; 
fancy  that  thou  deservest  to  be  hung  in  a  hair-halter,  — 
it  will  be  a  luxury  to  die  in  hemp." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he  bowing  ironically.  "  I  hardly 
needed  that  to  convince  me  that  happiness  is  but  a 
breath  of  mist." 

"  You  cannot  suppose  that  was  the  passage  I  meant," 
said  she  deprecatingly,  at  the  same  time  extending  her 
hand  for  the  book.  "But  is  there  not  a  happiness 
more  enduring  than  mist  ?  " 

"  How  can  it  be,  when  this  same  fearful  shadow  of 
ourselves  is  forever  close  behind  us  ?  " 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  91 

"  But  must  this  shadow  necessarily  be  '  a  black  spot 
in  our  sunshine  ?  ' ' 

"As  we  are  made,  I  see  not  but  that  it  must." 
"  Yet  if  we  ourselves  were  full  of  light,  should  we  pro- 
ject darkness  ?  " 

"A  territory  of  meaning  is  included  in  that  if.  There- 
fore, suppose  I  say  no  to  your  question,  what  relief  do 
you  gain  ?  For  alas !  who  is  '  full  of  light  ?  '  Where  is 
the  thinker,  be  it  man  or  woman,  who  is  not  tormented 
with  endless  retrospection  and  introspection  ?  And 
why,  but  because  of  the  evil  that  he  continually  discov- 
ers in  the  past  and  present,  —  in  his  external  and  internal 
life  ?  Ah,  Miss  Graham !  Carlyle  has  only  hit  the  truth. 
'  The  shadow  of  ourselves '  is  truly  '  the  black  spot,' 
ever  enlarging  in  extent,  till  it  overclouds  heaven  and 
earth." 

"  But  you  believe  in  some  exceptions  ?  " 
"  It  may  be,"   replied    he    in    a    melancholy  tone. 
"Yes,— 

'  I  do  believe 
That  two  or  one  are  almost  what  they  seem.' 

But  I  trust  you  know  nothing  of  this  unceasing,  useless 
struggle ;  this  hopeless  degradation ;  this  striving  to 
soar,  yet  sinking  instead ;  this  longing  for  the  true,  yet 
clinging  to  the  false ;  this  yearning  for  what  is  noble, 
yet  yielding  to  what  is  vile." 

"  You  must  not  except  me,"  she  responded  mourn- 
fully. «  Too  well  I  know  it  all.  But,  Mr.  Vinton,  « we 
have  not  an  High  Priest  that  cannot  be  touched  with 
the  feeling  of  our  infirmities.'  " 

"  Of  what  avail  is  sympathy  in  our  utterly  hopeless 
condition  ?  " 


92  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  Ah !  but  can  our  condition  be  utterly  hopeless  ? 
For  it  is  infinitely  more  than  sympathy  that  our  Saviour 
offers.  '  He  gave  himself  for  us,  that  he  might  redeem 
us  from  all  iniquity.'  " 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  draw  you  into  a  theological 
discussion.  Will  you  not  read  the  passage  to  which 
you  alluded  ?  " 

Opening  the  volume,  with  great  earnestness  she 
read,  — 

"  The  fraction  of  life  can  be  increased  in  value,  not  so 
much  by  increasing  your  numerator,  as  by  lessening 
your  denominator.  Nay,  unless  my  Algebra  deceives 
me,  unity  itself  divided  by  zero,  will  give  infinity.  Make 
thy  claim  of  wages  a  zero  then ;  thou  hast  the  world 
under  thy  feet.  Well  did  the  wisest  of  our  time  write : — 
1  It  is  only  with  renunciation,  that  life,  properly  speak- 
ing, can  be  said  to  begin." 

Turning  to  Marion,  he  said,  — 

"  What  do  you  understand  by  '  renunciation  ?  ' " 

"  Is  it  not  the  entire  consecration  of  the  soul  to  Christ, 
and,  of  course,  the  losing  of  our  wills  in  his  ?  " 

"  I  don't  imagine  that  was  Carlyle's  idea  of  it.  You 
give  his  philosophy  a  Christian  baptism." 

"  So  have  I  read  him.  And  his  stirring  appeals  seem 
strikingly  fitted  to  arouse  Christian  feeling  and  action." 

"  I  will  not  be  so  ungracious  as  to  disparage  an  oracle 
so  full  of  wisdom.  Nor  would  I  lessen  your  faith  in 
him.  Indeed,  I  have  a  genuine  admiration  of  his  ex- 
alted spirit  and  ennobling  views,  as  well  as  a  hearty 
sympathy  with  his  utter  abhorrence  of  all  formalities,  and 
hypocrisies,  and  falsities  of  every  kind  whatsoever.  But 
I  do  not  think  he  can  be  regarded  as  a  Christian  in 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN  HAPPINESS.  98 

"  I  am  well  aware  that  he  is  not  made  after  the  com- 
mon pattern.  And  he  is  outspoken  and  cutting  in  re- 
spect to  many  things  among  nominal  Christians  which 
the  general  opinion  tolerates,  but  which  he  considers 
utterly  inconsistent  with  their  high  profession.  From 
one  of  such  stern  virtues  and  keen  insight,  to  whose 
searching  glance  the  verities  of  things  lie  bare,  an  un- 
due severity  of  judgment  ought  perhaps  to  be  expected. 
And  thus  there  may  be  a  lack  of  charity  and  of  other 
gentle  virtues ;  but  it  would  give  me  great  pain  to 
doubt  that  Carlyle  was,  after  all,  a  Christian." 

"  I  will  not  dispute  the  matter  with  you,"  said  he  with 
some  asperity,  which  both  surprised  and  wounded  Mar- 
ion. 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  replied  with  dignity,  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  be  persistent,  and  I  will  urge  the  matter  no  fur- 
ther." 

"  Pardon  my  irritation,  Miss  Graham,  which  had  not 
the  smallest  occasion  in  any  thing  you  said.  And  unless 
you  feel  it  necessary  to  punish  me  for  my  perversity,  do 
not  refuse  to  express  all  you  feel  on  the  subject." 

"  I  may  have  been  needlessly  sensitive.  But  I  was 
only  intending  to  say  a  few  words  more.  Carlyle  has 
uttered  one  sentiment,  at  least,  which  I  can  hardly 
conceive  to  have  been  born  out  of  Christianity,  and 
which  seems  to  me  a  gem  worthy  of  the  richest  set- 
ting." 

"  Will  you  not  repeat  it  ?  " 

"  There  is  in  man  a  HIGHER  than  love  of  happiness  ;  he 
can  do  without  happiness,  and  instead  thereof  find  blessed- 
ness!" 

As  she  repeated  this  noble  sentiment,  her  face  glowed 


94  MAiuox  GRAHAM; 

with  enthusiasm.  Maurice  gave  her  a  searching  glance 
as  he  inquired, — 

«  Do  you  really  believe  that  ?  " 

"  I  admire  it ;  but  I  am  far  from  having  made  the 
attainment  which  an  unqualified  assent  would  imply. 
Yet  I  long  to  say  it  out  of  the  depths  of  my  heart." 

"  And  have  you,  then,  no  unconditional  yearnings  for 
what  your  inmost  consciousness  tells  you  would  bring 
exquisite  happiness  ?  —  no  feeling  that  you  would  grasp 
it,  if  possible,  at  almost  any  sacrifice  ?  " 

As  he  asked  these  questions,  he  gazed  at  her  with  an 
intensity  which  brought  a  rich  color  to  her  cheek. 

"  It  is  one  thing  to  know,  and  another  to  do.  But 
my  hope  is  in  Him  who  giveth  strength." 

"And  would  you  immolate  your  dearest  wishes,  your 
sweetest  hopes,  your  assured  bliss,  on  the  altar  of  some 
imagined  duty  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  what  I  should  do,  Mr.  Vinton,"  said  she 
with  a  quivering  lip,  "  but  I  pray  that  God  may  help 
me  always  to  do  right,  and  without  fear  of  conse- 
quences." 

Maurice  drew  a  long  sigh  ;  and  having  sat  for  a  few 
minutes  in  profound  silence,  abruptly  rose  to  leave. 
Taking  Marion's  hand,  he  spoke  in  a  low  voice  and 
with  a  look  which  went  to  her  heart,  — 

"  Forgive  me  if  any  thing  I  have  said  this  evening 
has  caused  you  pain." 

Then,  with  a  pressure  as  if  it  were  a  last  parting,  he 
withdrew.  And  Marion  sat  alone  and  watched  the 
fading  embers  till  they  died  out  in  blackness.  Could 
she  doubt  his  affection  ?  But  why  was  it  that  the 
more  strongly  she  felt  his  spell  upon  her,  and  the  quicker 


OK,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  95 

his  eloquent  eyes  caused  the  glow  to  spring  to  her 
cheek,  the  more  fiercely  did  an  impenetrable  gloom 
seem  contending  in  him  for  the  mastery  ?  All  this  was 
inexplicable.  It  sometimes  kindled  her  pride,  and  im- 
parted a  frostiness  to  her  manner  which  stung  him 
keenly,  though  she  knew  it  not. 

But  to-night  his  looks  were  unequivocal.  The  warm 
grasp  of  his  hand  still  lingered  with  her,  and  her  heart 
beat  quicker  at  the  recollection.  Yet  ir^  all  the  deli- 
ciousness  of  this  trembling  hope,  a  strange  dread  crept 
over  her.  She  longed  for  some  positive  assurance,  —  for 
the  waking  certainty  of  bliss.  Alas !  she  is  becoming 
more  and  more  involved.  The  meshes  are  silken  and 
seem  flexible,  but  they  may  close  upon  her  with  a  grasp 
like  iron. 


96  MARION  GRAHAM; 


CHAPTER    IX. 


a  Her  summer-nature  felt  a  need  to  bless, 

And  a  like  longing  to  be  blessed  again; 
So,  from  her  sky-like  spirit,  gentleness 

Dropt  ever  like  a  sunlit  fall  of  rain, 
And  his  beneath  drank  in  the  bright  caress, 

As  thirstily  as  would  a  parched  plain, 
That  long  hath  watched  the  showers  of  sloping  gray 
Forever,  ever  falling  far  away." 

THE  sun  clad  in  drapery  of  gray  had  slowly  sunk  to 
his  hazy  couch,  leaving  the  earth  a  dreary  waste.  But 
when,  the  next  morning,  he  climbed  the  ruddy  east,  hill 
and  dale,  glittering  with  rainbow  hues,  welcomed  his 
golden  beams  in  a  spectacle  of  unrivalled  splendor.  Dur- 
ing his  absence  the  Frost- King,  breathing  on  the  trick- 
ling mist,  had  transformed  the  sober,  wintry  valley  of 
the  Shawmut  into  a  crystal  dell  of  the  most  dazzling 
beauty.  The  broad  landscape  presented  to  Marion's 
enraptured  eye  a  scene  of  magic  enchantment,  —  of  al- 
most unearthly  grandeur.  The  broad,  branching  maples, 
and  the  graceful,  towering  elms,  shone  out  in  their  fair, 
hyaline  garments,  loaded  with  jewels  of  surpassing  lus- 
tre and  magnificence.  Not  a  bough  nor  a  twig  but 
glittered  with  sparkling  pendants.  Not  a  shrub  nor  a 
blade  of  grass  but  was  bespangled  with  brilliant  gems. 

As    Marion  and  her  father   stood    outside  the  door, 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN  HAPPINESS.  97 

she  could  hardly  control  her  deep  emotion.  Thus  to 
meet  the  spirit  of  Beauty  face  to  face ;  to  behold  the 
wondrous  transfigurations  she  had  wrought,  and  the 
glory  which  she  had  poured  out  like  a  sea  upon  all 
nature,  filled  her  with  silent  ecstasy  arid  worship.  At 
her  father's  request,  who  feared  the  exposure  of  her 
health,  she  left  the  portico,  and  took  her  seat  in  a  deep 
bay  window  in  the  parlor,  whence  she  could  command 
an  extended  view.  Is  it  strange  that  she  thought  of 
her  last  night's  companion,  and  wondered  whether  he 
too  were  revelling  in  beauty  ?  And  if  she  longed  to 
have  him  by  her  side,  that  they  might  commune  to- 
gether upon  this  mount  of  vision,  will  any  one  blame 
her? 

As  the  sun  ascended  the  meridian,  the  fairy  scene  be- 
came more  and  more  resplendent.  At  a  certain  angle, 
there  was  a  definiteness  to  the  bewildering  beauty,  not 
visible  at  any  other  point.  The  various  precious  stones 
shone  out  in  the  radiance  of  their  own  distinctness  and 
reality.  Here  glowed  the  topaz  and  the  amethyst ;  there 
the  beryl  and  the  sapphire.  Now  blazed  the  diamond,  the 
jasper,  and  the  emerald  ;  anon  the  ruby,  the  hyacinth,  and 
the  chrysolite.  Every  tree  was  strung  with  scintillat- 
ing pearls,  and  from  every  branch  and  bough  leaped 
out  myriads  of  tiny  rainbows,  dancing  as  if  in  exuber- 
ant gladness.  The  houses  were  incased  in  burnished 
silver,  and  their  roofs  and  walls  brilliantly  frescoed  with 
quaint  and  curious  devices.  The  hills  and  the  valleys 
gleamed  with  coruscating  crystals  of  every  shape  and 
size,  of  every  color  and  tint.  The  white  fences  were 
overlaid  with  a  silvery  enchasing,  and  thickly  set  with 
jewelled  spikes,  as  if  to  forbid  a  rude  approach.  The 
gravel  walks  were  transmuted  into  pavements  of  glit- 


98  MARION  GRAHAM; 

tering  mosaics,  while  on  every  hand  green  leaf  and 
sprig,  bright  bud  and  berry,  were  exquisitely  imbedded  in 
pellucid  crystals. 

"  Dear  father,  do  let  me  sit  out  of  doors.  The  sun- 
shine is  warm,  and  1  will  wrap  myself  in  a  large 
shawl  And  I  never  shall  see  another  such  sight,  at 
least  in  this  world." 

Judge  Graham  having  smiled  his  consent,  she  placed 
a  chair  against  a  silvered  elm,  and  seated  herself. 

"  Fancy  me  an  Arabian  princess,"  she  called  to  him 
as  he  stood  watching  her  at  the  door,  "  and  that  I  have 
been  rubbing  Aladdin's  lamp." 

"  Behold  in  me  one  of  your  genii !  "  said  a  voice  which 
startled  her ;  and  Maurice  playfully  dropped  on  one  knee, 
saying,  — 

"  Fair  princess,  accept  my  homage,  and  make  known 
thy  will!" 

Beneath  his  mask  of  pleasantry  was  an  air  of  earnest- 
ness,that  brought  the  color  to  her  cheek  as  she  gaily  re- 
plied, — 

"  I  bid  thee  rise  and  seat  thyself.  But  how  did  you 
happen  here  at  this  precise  moment  ?  " 

"  Did  you  not  send  a  winged  wish  after  me,  and  could 
I  do  otherwise  than  obey  ?  "  asked  he  with  a  searching 
glance. 

Her  eyes  fell  in  confusion,  but  she  still  felt  the  mes- 
meric spell ;  and,  as  he  waited  for  a  reply,  she  softly  an- 
swered as  if  by  compulsion,  — 

"  Why,  then,  have  you  delayed  so  long  ?  " 

A  sudden  joy  flashed  over  his  face,  succeeded  by  a 
darker  shade  of  gloom  as  he  replied,  — 

"At  some  other  time  I  may  perhaps  explain." 

"  That  you  may  purchase  pardon,"  said  she,  hasten- 


Oil,    HIGHER   THAN    IIA1MMNKS*.  09 

ing  to  turn  the  subject,  "  I  bid  you  gather  me  a  handful 
of  jewels." 

"  Shall  they  be  rubies  or  diamonds,  pearls  or  sap- 
phires?" 

"  Some  of  every  kind,  if  you  please. 

Laying  a  sparkling  gem  within  her  hand,  their  fingers 
met.  And  the  subtle  magnetism  thrilled  along  their 
veins,  and  kindled  electric  fire  within  their  eyes.  At 
this  critical  moment,  Judge  Graham  again  appeared  at 
the  door,  suggesting  to  Marion  that  she  had  been  out  as 
long  as  was  safe.  As  she  rose,  he  cordially  invited  Mr. 
Vinton  to  tea,  saying,  — 

"  I  foresee  a  fine  evening,  and  I  fear  it  will  be  more 
than  I  can  do  to  keep  my  child  within  doors." 

Maurice  hesitated,  but  one  glance  at  Marion's  eyes 
decided  him,  and  going  into  the  house,  they  sat  down 
together  in  the  same  alcove  where  Marion  had  passed 
the  morning.  If  Eden-land  was  spread  out  before  their 
entranced  vision,  it  was  also  Eden,  that  afternoon,  in 
Marion's  throbbing  heart.  Rapidly  did  the  paradisal 
blooms  of  love  spring  up  and  expand  beneath  the  warm, 
tender,  glowing  sunlight  of  those  deep  eyes.  And 
sweet,  sweet  was  the  aroma  of  these  Elysian  flowers, 
stealing  on  the  bewildered  senses  of  this  youthful  pair, 
and  causing  a  delicious  intoxication  to  tremble  through 
every  vein,  and  to  thrill  every  nerve  with  rapture. 

As  the  sun  journeyed  towards  the  west,  the  glorious 
scene  was  softened  into  a  mellow  and  more  exquisite 
beauty.  The  broad  fields  lay  shining  in  the  vista  like 
a  sea  of  molten  silver,  whose  waves  had  suddenly  con- 
gealed. And  upon  the  fair  bosom  of  this  boundless 
sea,  glistening  pearls  and  starry  gems  were  scattered  in 
luxuriant  profusion.  By  a  spontaneous  movement, 


100  MARION  GKAHAM; 

both  Maurice  and  Marion  rose,  and  went  towards  the 
door. 

"  Marion,"  said  her  father  coming  from  the  library, 
"you  had  better  take  Mr.  Vinton  to  the  upper  story, 
where  you  will  command  a  more  extensive  view." 

They  ascended  and  gazed  silently  from  a  western 
window.  The  round,  setting  sun,  in  drapery  of  golden 
and  amethystine  splendor,  still  lingered  above  the  hori- 
zon, filling  the  heavens  with  glory,  and  bathing  the  land- 
scape in  a  flood  of  crimson  light,  while  every  object 
was  broken  into  scintillations  of  a  richer  effulgence. 
The  Naiads  had  opened  the  crystalline  doors  of  the  sea, 
and  the  fairies  had  unbarred  the  jewelled  gates  of  earth  ; 
and,  from  their  watery  caverns  and  hidden  mines,  had 
gathered  the  rarest  gems  of  every  hue  and  shape  and 
size,  lavishly  showering  them  over  the  land.  Spell- 
bound in  a  blissful  silence,  these  gazers  stood  till  the 
night-shadows  fell  upon  the  scene. 

As  they  rose  from  tea,  the  gentle  moon,  ascending  her 
triumphal  car,  shed  a  soft  lustre  on  the  crystal  vaUey. 

"  Shall  we  not  walk  out  ?  "  asked  Maurice. 

Marion  looked  at  her  father,  who  readily  gave  his 
consent. 

What  an  evening  was  that!  And  how  carefully 
would  covetous  Memory  hive  up  every  honeyed  mo- 
ment of  those  delicious  hours !  Marion's  heart  was  full 
to  the  brim.  She  was  drunk  with  beauty.  Shall  we 
add  that  she  was  also  drunk  with  the  joy  of  knowing 
herself  beloved  ?  Yet  how  dare  she  yield  to  such  wild 
emotion,  when,  as  yet,  his  lips  have  never  spoken  one 
word  of  love  ?  Gentle  reader,  there  are  utterances  more 
potent  than  words.  There  is  a  freemasonry  of  affec- 
tion, by  which  many  a  sign  and  token,  spelling  naught 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  101 

to  the  uninitiated,  is  charged  with  subtle  import  to  those 
under  the  magnetic  spell.  If  you  had  asked  Marion 
whether  Maurice  loved  her;  —  recalling  the  want  of  any 
literal  assurance  to  this  effect,  she  would  unhesitatingly 
have  answered  "  No."  And  yet,  while  she  did  so,  the 
tell-tale  blood  in  her  cheeks,  and  the  sweet  confusion  in 
her  eyes,  would  have  given  the  directest  contradiction  to 
her  negative.  Words  can  be  handled,  and  weighed,  and 
bartered,  if  need  be.  But  looks,  —  the  thousand  inex- 
pressible, unnamed  tokens,  which  pass  on  electric  wires 
between  heart  and  heart,  are  not  marketable  commodi- 
ties. A  woman  may  have  fondly  treasured  up  myriads 
of  such  invisible,  uncounted  jewels,  but  she  dares  not 
present  these  silent  notes  at  the  bank,  and  demand  spe- 
cie thereupon,  lest  some  one  challenge  her; — and  then, 
dear  heart !  —  what  hath  she  whereby  to  prove  her  wealth  ? 
A  trifler,  that  basest  of  men,  well  knows  how  to  abuse 
the  fearful  power  which  this  dangerous,  irresponsible 
traffic  gives  him  over  a  delicate  woman.  Irresponsible 
to  the  legal  enactments  of  men,  but  not  so,  O  trifler, 
in  the  sight  of  high  heaven !  For,  if  killing  the  body 
be  accounted  a  crime,  is  it  nothing  to  kill  a  loving, 
throbbing  human  heart  ?  —  ruthlessly  to  trample  on  its 
most  cherished  affections,  and  crush  out  forever  its 
sweet  confidingness  and  hope  ?  With  a  noble  nature, 
the  spontaneous  incantations  of  love,  by  which  he  may 
have  thrown  his  spell  around  another,  and  drawn  her 
closer  and  closer  to  himself,  are  as  sacredly  regarded  as 
if  his  lips  had  uttered  the  vows  of  affection. 

On  this  showing,  had  not  Marion  reason  in  her  joy  ? 
As  her  hand  trembled  upon  Maurice's  arm,  she  felt  his 
arm  tremble  also.  As  her  heart  throbbed  with  that 
sweetest  of  all  earthly  passions,  she  knew  that  th<b  puls- 


102  MARION  GRAHAM; 

ations  of  his  strong  heart  were  quickened  by  the  same 
passion.  For  a  time  they  walked  in  a  dreamy  silence 
which  was  not  silence,  glancing  through  the  gracefully 
drooping  branches  of  the  majestic  trees,  and  revelling 
in  their  wealth  of  beauty.  As  they  listened  to  the  sil- 
very rustling  of  the  jewelled  boughs,  kissing  each  other 
in  their  icy  loves,  Maurice  exclaimed,  — 

"  Eden's  crystal  bells 
Ringing  in  the  ambrosial  breeze 
That  from  the  throne  of  Allah  swells." 

"  That  same  passage  was  just  upon  my  lips."  As 
she  said  this,  Maurice  gave  a  sudden  glance  into  her 
face,  and  involuntarily  drew  her  arm  closer  within  his 
own. 

Passing  through  the  glittering  streets,  they  ascended 
with  some  difficulty  a  wooded  hill.  What  a  spectacle 
was  beneath  them !  As  they  stood  rapt  in  this  vision 
of  resplendent  beauty,  gazing  on  the  glittering  spires ;  on 
the  walls  of  chrysolite,  "  garnished  with  all  manner  of 
precious  stones;"  on  the  "  gates  of  pearl;"  on  the  streets, 
"  as  it  were  transparent  glass  ; "  on  the  trees  which  bore 
every  "  manner  of  fruits ; "  on  the  churchyard  with  its 
pillars  of  enchased  silver,  like  shining  angels,  guarding 
the  quiet  sleepers; — and  as  they  caught  gleamings  of  the 
fair  Shawmut,  fit  emblem  of  the  river  of  life,  brightly 
meandering  through  the  glorious  scene,  a  praiseful  psalm 
was  chanted  in  Marion's  worshipping  heart.  With 
clasped  hands,  and  a  countenance  glowing  in  its  spirit- 
ual elevation,  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  Oh,  what  a  fair  similitude  of  the  glorious  city 
above ! — 

The  golden  city  set  on  yonder  height, 

Its  glittering  walls  with  radiant  jewels  bright. 


Oil,    HIGHER    THAN   HAPPIXKSS.  103 

And  lo  !  those  glimpses  of  the  crystal  river 

From  out  the  rainbow-throne  ! 
Over  its  ripples  clear  the  light  doth  quiver 

As  from  a  jasper-stone. 
Now  lightly  dancing  in  the  ethereal  breeze, 
Now  brightly  glancing  from  rich-fruited  trees. 

What  a  place,  Mr.  Vinton,  must  the  heavenly  par- 
adise be  !  And  how  transcendent  that  love  which  has 
there  provided  mansions  for  the  weary  and  sinning 
of  earth ! " 

Maurice  had  been  gazing  upon  her  with  a  deeper  ad- 
miration than  even  the  unrivalled  vision  before  him  had 
inspired.  But  there  was  no  outburst  of  feeling.  In- 
stead of  this,  setting  upon  his  throbbing  heart  the  iron 
heel  of  resolve,  he  suddenly  and  almost  fiercely  assumed 
an  icy  reserve,  that  congealed  the  burning  soul  of  Mar- 
ion, and  sealed  her  glowing  lips.  In  unbroken  silence, 
they  retraced  their  steps  over  that  same  path  which  had 
so  lately  seemed  like  enchanted  ground ;  —  now,  alas  ! 
disrobed  of  its  wondrous  spell. 

A  formal  good-night ! 

Retiring  to  her  room,  Marion  dropped  the  curtains 
to  shut  out  the  gorgeous  Eden-landscape,  on  which  she 
had  just  gazed  with  such  an  exultant  spirit.  Long  she 
sat  buried  in  sad  musings,  while  a  few  lines  from  one 
of  Mrs.  Hemans's  poems  came  painfully  to  her  recol- 
lection. 

"  Oh,  make  him  not  the  chastener  of  my  heart ! 

I  tremble  with  a  sense 
Of  grief  to  be ;  I  hear  a  warning  low  — 
This  wild  idolatry  must  end  in  woe." 


104  MARION  GRAHAM; 


CHAPTER    X. 


"  It  ia  the  fate  of  a  woman 

Long  to  be  patient  and  silent,  to  wait  like  a  ghost  that  is  speechless, 
Till  some  questioning  voice  dissolves  the  spell  of  its  silence. 
Hence  is  the  inner  life  of  so  many  suffering  women 
Sunless,  and  silent,  and  deep,  like  subterranean  rivers 
Running  through  caverns  of  darkness,  unheard,  unseen,  and  unfruitful, 
Chafing  then*  channels  of  stone,  with  endless  and  profitless  murmurs." 

"  A  LETTER  from  Julia ! "  said  Maurice,  as  he  one 
evening  entered  Marion's  little-sitting  room,  holding  up 
a  well-filled  sheet.  Seating  himself  beside  the  table,  in 
an  animated  tone  he  read  it  aloud. 


"  MY  DEAR,  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  For  such  I  shall  always 
consider  you,  whatever  changes  may  happen.  I  ought 
to  thank  you  for  my  happiness,  for  it  has  all  come 
through  you.  I  thank  Marion  too,  but  it  was  you  that 
commenced  my  —  reformation,  I  think  I  shall  have  to 
call  it.  She  will,  therefore,  let  me  give  you  the  first 
place  in.  my  gratitude,  and  that  is  why  I  write  to  you 
first. 

And  now  I  have  as  real  a  story  to  teU  as  if  it  were 
written  out  in  a  book.  Only  I  wish  it  were  begun,  for 
it  is  so  hard  to  begin  any  thing.  And  it  was  hard  to  lay 
aside  my  foolish  ways,  but  I  arn  glad  I  did.  And  it 
has  all  come  to  pass  as  you  told  me  it  would.  But  J 
must  tell  you  in  order, 


OIJ,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  105 

Mr.  McKinstry  (isn't  it  a  funny  name  ?  But  I  like 
it  now,  and  you  will  when  you  hear  all,)  took  first- 
rate  care  of  me.  You  can't  think  how  polite  he  was, 
and  what  nice  refreshments  he  provided  for  me  all  along 
the  road,  and  how  fast  we  chatted.  He  asked  me  a 
great  many  questions  about  you,  indeed  I  thought  he 
would  never  get  satisfied.  Of  course  I  told  him  how 
much  you  had  done  for  me,  though  I  didn't  tell  him 
the  whole  of  that  scene ;  for  you  know  it  wouldn't  be 
best. 

Why,  he  was  so  agreeable  that  I  was  almost  sorry 
when  we  got  to  New  York,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  was 
too,  though  he  didn't  say  so.  He  was  so  very  kind  dur- 
ing our  journey,  that  I  suppose  you  won't  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  I  couldn't  help  thinking  of  him  afterwards. 

You  can't  imagine  how  many  times  papa  kissed 
me.  He  then  looked  at  me  a  long  time,  holding  me 
out  at  arms'  length.  At  last  he  broke  out,  — 

*  What  have  they  done  to  you  up  there,  Jule,  for  on 
my  word,  you  seem  vastly  improved  ?  ' 

'  They  told  me  my  faults,  dear  papa,  and  that  I 
mustn't  be  affected  and  have  airs.  And  Mr.  Vinton,  of 
whom  I  wrote  to  you,  has  been  just  like  a  father.' 

'  Wiser  than  your  old  father,  I  guess,'  he  said. 

*  Well,  papa,  it  was  best,  you  know,  and  so  I  tried  to 
to  do  just  as  he  told  me,  and  I  think  I  am  improved.' 

*  No  doubt  of  it,  child.' 
The  next  day  I  said  to  him, 

'  Papa,  I  am  glad  you  sent  Mr.  McKinstry  after  me, 
for  he  was  very  kind.' 

'  Think  it  quite  likely,'  and  he  snapped  his  eyes  as  if 
he  knew  something. 

*'  What  is  it,  papa?' 


100  MARION    GRAHAM  : 

'  Oh,  nothing  for  you  now,  child.  I  shall  betray 
nobody's  secrets.' 

That  night  father  invited  Mr.  McKinstry  to  tea. 
And  when  I  handed  him  his  cup,  he  gave  me  such  a 
look  that  I  felt  my  face  burning  all  over.  Well,  he  kept 
coming  every  little  while  till  New- Year's.  I  can't  tell 
you  how  many  calls  and  presents  I  had  during  the  day ; 
but  the  one  I  wanted  to  see  most  did  not  come.  In 
the  evening,  however,  as  we  were  sitting  in  the  parlor, 
the  door-bell  rang.  I  don't  know  what  made  me  start, 
but  papa  said,  '  Be  quiet,  Jule,  nobody  is  going  to  harm 
you,'  and  then  he  snapped  his  eyes.  Presently  the 
door  was  opened,  and  in  walked  —  can't  you  guess 
who  ?  He  shook  hands  with  us  both,  and  began  to  talk 
about  the  weather.  After  a  few  minutes,  papa  jumped 
up  and  said  he  must  call  at  Mr.  Moody's.  He  had  no 
sooner  gone,  than  Mr.  McKinstry  came  and  sat  down 
by  me. 

'  You  have  had  a  great  many  beautiful  presents  to- 
day I  see,'  said  he,  pointing  to  the  table  which  was  cov- 
ered with  them. 

And  then  I  thought  he  was  preparing  to  give  me 
another.  But,  instead  of  that,  he  looked  directly  into 
my  eyes,  and  inquired  (don't  you  think  he  was  presum- 
ing ?)  if  I  would  not  make  a  barter  with  him. 

'  For,'  said  he, '  I  have  already  given  you  my  greatest 
treasure,  and  I  am  bold  enough  to  covet  yours  in  re- 
turn.' Then,  taking  my  hand,  he  added, « In  short,  dear 
Julia,  you  have  won  my  whole  heart,  and  will  you  not 
bless  me  with  yours  in  exchange  ?  ' 

What  could  poor  little  I  do,  but  blush  and  hang 
down  my  head  ?  But  he  seemed  very  well  satisfied 
with  the  reply  he  got,  so  I  made  no  effort  to  speak. 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN  HAPPINESS.  107 

Then  he  put  a  betrothal-ring  on  my  finger.  And  so  1 
agreed  to  become  his  wife,  for  he  said  papa  had  already 
given  his  consent.  He  told  me  that  he  had  always  been 
charmed  with  my  beauty,  but  that  my  manners  did  not 
please  him.  He  did  not  care  to  go  to  Glenwood  for 
me  ;  and  went  only  because  papa  requested  it.  But  he 
said  the  moment  he  met  me,  he  saw  how  changed  I 
was,  and  that  he  could  not  help  falling  in  love.  I  told 
him  it  was  all  owing  to  you,  and  that  he  must  make  you 
his  best  bow,  which  he  said  he  would  gladly  do. 

When  papa  came  home,  and  saw  us  sitting  so  confi- 
dentially together,  he  exclaimed,  '  What  have  you  been 
up  to  ? '  So  Mr.  McKinstry,  or  James,  as  he  says  I 
must  call  him,  had  to  go  over  the  whole. 

Since  it  was  all  settled,  I  am  as  happy  as  a  bird. 
Don't  you  think  he  is  handsome  ?  And  then  papa  says 
he  is  so  solid  and  good.  But  he  is  all  of  twenty-eight 
years  old.  I  don't  object  to  that,  however.  He  is  in  a 
great  hurry  to  be  married ;  —  says  he  is  afraid  I  shall  be 
spoiled  if  he  don't  take  me  under  his  care.  Very  disin- 
terested, isn't  he  ?  I  dare  say  you  think  he  will  spoil 
me,  but  he  won't.  He  never  natters,  and  he  wants  me 
to  be  so  good. 

But  about  our  being  married.  Papa  thought  we 
had  better  wait  two  years,  for  you  know  I  shan't  be 
eighteen  till  a  year  from  next  May.  But  James  says 
he  is  willing  to  share  every  thing  with  me ;  and  that  I 
shall  have  half  of  his  additional  years,  which  will  make 
us  each  twenty-three.  He  is  terribly  urgent,  so  I  sup- 
pose next  September  will  be  the  time.  Tell  Marion  1 
love  her  as  dearly  as  ever,  and  that  I  long  to  hear  from 
you  both. 

YOUR  GRATEFUL,  HAPPY  JUUA." 


108  MARION  GRAHAM; 

«  p.  g. —  Tell  dear  uncle  Graham  as  much  as  you 
think  proper  about  me,  but  don't  let  him  see  my  letter." 

"  Isn't  that  charming  ?  "  said  Maurice.  "  Dear  little 
witch  !  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  of  her  happiness." 

All  tKis  was  so  genuine,  that  Marion  saw  how  idle 
had  been  her  old,  occasional  surmise.  He  talked  freely 
of  Julia's  prospects,  and  then  turned  to  other  subjects, 
being  careful,  however,  to  avoid  personalities.  Indeed 
this  had  been  the  case  since  the  memorable  night  of 
their  walk. 

Having  read  several  of  Schiller's  dramas,  they  were 
now  commencing  "Wallenstein. 

"  I  have  always  been  greatly  interested  in  the  old  as- 
trologers," said  Marion,  as  they  read  of  the  ancient 
Seni.  «  And  the  fascination  of  the  science  seems  per- 
fectly natural." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  you  have  some  sympathy  with  Wal- 
lenstein's  faith  in  the  stars  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  have ;  but  it  was  a  melancholy  reliance 
on  his  lucky  stars  that  led  him  into  such  recklessness." 

"  It  was  indeed ;  and  this  belief  in  fate  made  him 
irresolute  when  nothing  could  save  him  but  decision." 

"  What  a  fine  description  of  Thekla's  visit  to  the  old 
tower !  "  said  Marion,  as  they  read  on. 

They  lingered  upon  Max  Piccolomini's  reply,  and  his 
explanation  of  the  science  of  the  stars. 

"Do  you  recollect  Coleridge's  translation  of  these 
beautiful  passages  ?  "  inquired  Maurice. 

"  Not  particularly." 

Taking  down  Coleridge's  Poems,  he  read  a  part  of 
the  scene. 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN  HAPPINESS.  109 

"And  it'  this  be  the  science  of  the  stars, 
I,  too,  with  glad  and  zealous  industry, 
Will  learn  acquaintance  with  this  cheerful  faith. 
It  is  a  gentle  and  affectionate  thought, 
That  in  immeasurable  heights  above  us, 
At  our  first  birth,  the  wreath  of  love  was  woven, 
With  sparkling  stars  for  flowers." 

«  I  ought  to  add  the  Countess  Tertsky's  comment. 

'  Not  only  roses, 

But  thorns,  too,  hath  the  heaven ;  and  well  for  you 
Leave  they  your  wreath  of  love  inviolate : 
What  Venus  twined,  the  bearer  of  glad  fortune, 
The  sullen  orb  of  Mars  soon  tears  to  pieces.' " 

It  was  with  a  sad  interest  that  they  followed  the  story ; 
especially  the  sorrowful  fortunes  of  the  young  lovers. 
And  Marion  found  a  satisfaction  in  the  original  far 
greater  than  what  she  had  felt  in  the  translation. 

"  Is  this  additional  zest  to  be  entirely  accounted  for 
from  the  pleasure  of  mastering  another  language  ?  " 

"  Much  of  it  probably ;  but  there  are  also  delicate 
shades,  and  freshnesses  of  thought,  as  well  as  naive 
expressions,  which  cannot  be  adequately  translated.  Here 
is  an  instance  in  point,  to  which  Coleridge  himself  re- 
fers. After  the  death  of  Max,  Wallenstein  says,  — 

'  Verschmerzen  werd'  ich  diesen  Schlag,  das  weiss  ich, 
Denn  was  verschmerzte  nicht  der  mensch  ?' 

which  the  translator  has  rendered,  — 

'  This  anguish  will  be  wearied  down,  I  know; 
What  pang  is  permanent  with  man  V  ' 


110  MARIOK  GRAHAM; 

but  which,  as  he  says,  literally  reads,  — 

'  I  shall  grieve  down  this  blow,  of  that  I'm  conscious, 
What  does  not  man  grieve  down  ? ' " 

"  What  a  fine  rendering  of  the  words  following  that 
passage ! "  said  Marion,  looking  over  with  him. 

'  The  bloom  is  vanished  from  my  life ; 
For  oh  !  he  stood  beside  me  like  my  youth, 
Transformed  for  me  the  real  to  a  dream, 
Clothing  the  palpable  and  the  familiar 
With  golden  exhalations  of  the  dawn. 
Whatever  fortunes  wait  my  future  toils, 
The  beautiful  is  vanished  and  returns  not.' 

"  It  is  a  touching  tribute  to  Max,"  he  added. 

"  But  one  is  so  disappointed  in  "Wallenstein.  I  know 
nothing  more  mournful  than  the  discovery  of  any  weak- 
ness in  a  great  man." 

"  You  idealize,  Miss  Graham ;  and  who  would  not 
fail  when  measured  by  your  standard  ?  " 

"  Max  would  not,"  replied  she  smiling.  "  He  was 
every  thing  that  was  noble,  and  though  full  of  the  ten- 
derest  sensibilities,  no  littleness  marred  his  character." 

"  You  do  not,  then,  wonder  at  Thekla's  feeling  that 
there  was  but  one  place  in  the  world,  —  that  where  he 
lay  buried  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  true  womanly  sentiment.  '  That  single 
spot  was,'  indeed,  '  the  whole  earth '  to  her." 

"  So  bound  up  in  one  being,  even  in  death ! "  and  he 
looked  as  if  he  would  fain  read  her  soul. 

The  color  deepened  on  her  cheek  as  she  replied,  — 

"  He  was  worthy  of  such  devotion  ;  at  any  rate,  it  is 
beautiful  poetry.  But  the  end  is  too  sad." 


OR,   HIGHER   THAX  HAPPINESS.  Ill 

"  Yet  you  prefer  tragedy  to  comedy  ?  " 

"  Decidedly  ;  for  it  deals  in  deeper  passions,  and  calls 
out  higher  sentiments." 

"And  sounds  depths  which  the  latter  could  never 
reach.  I  fully  agree  with  you.  And,  for  somewhat  sim- 
ilar reasons,  I  see  that  we  both  have  a  preference  for 
mournful  music." 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  up  the  guitar,  and,  with  truest 
pathos,  played  and  sang  those  exquisite  lines  by  the 
lamented  Charles  Wolfe. 

"  If  I  had  thought  thou  could'st  have  died, 
I  might  not  weep  for  thee." 

When  the  song  was  ended,  he  said  to  Marion,  — 
"  Now  it  is  your  turn." 

Attempting  to  smile  through  her  tears,  she  shook  her 
head,  but  could  make  no  other  reply. 

The  wintry  weeks  glided  away,  and  Maurice's  silence 
on  one  subject  remained  unbroken.  Yet  there  were 
electric  communications  between  him  and  Marion,  more 
potent  than  words. 

"  For  all  things  carry  the  heart's  messages, 

And  know  it  not,  nor  doth  the  heart  well  know, 
But  nature  hath  her  will ;  even  as  the  bees, 

Blithe  go-betweens,  fly  singing  to  and  fro 
With  the  fruit-quickening  pollen;  —  hard  if  these 

Found  not  some  all  unthought-of  way  to  show 
Their  secret  each  to  each ;  and  so  they  did, 

And  one  heart's  flower-dust  into  the  other  slid." 

And  now  had  come  on  the  blossoming,  sapful  Spring, 
BO  full  of  sunshine  and  of  hope.  Those  warm,  genial 


112  MARION  GRAHAM; 

days  were  peculiarly  favorable  to  reverie,  and  Marion 
yielded  to  their  influence.  Many  an  hour  she  sat  at  the 
window,  watching  the  fairy-transformations  of  nature, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  listening  to  pleasant  voices 
within  her  heart. 

Dream  on  while  thou  canst,  O  maiden,  for  a  word, 
a  breath  —  may  ruffle  the  smooth  stream  on  which  so 
willingly  thou  dost  float,  and  imbitter  the  deep  fountain 
at  which  thou  art  slaking  thy  thirst. 

While  Marion  thus  dwelt  in  dream-land,  Maurice  was 
confronting  the  stern  face  of  a  terrible  foe. 

"  It  will  never,  never  do,"  said  he  to  himself  with  bit- 
terness. "  If  things  go  on  as  they  are,  a  double  ship- 
wreck may  ensue.  I  dare  not  longer  remain.  I  will 
make  my  promised  visit  to  Bessie,  and,  after  that,  re- 
turn to  my  old  haunts.  I  must  burst  the  chain  which 
is  enslaving  me,  and  put  off  from  this  enchanted  shore, 
a  free,  if  a  miserable  man." 

His  resolve  was  taken,  and  no  after-pleadings  of  his 
heart  could  alter  it.  Knowing  nothing  of  his  internal 
struggles,  and  his  consequent  decision,  Marion  gave  her- 
self up  to  the  sweetness  of  the  present  hour,  incredulous 
of  coming  change. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  one  of  the  golden  days  of  May, 
that  Maurice  entered  Marion's  presence,  with  an  arm- 
ful of  books.  She  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Assuming  that  you  are  an  industrious  being,  I  have 
brought  work  to  employ  you  during  my  absence." 

"  Your  absence ! "  she  mechanically  repeated,  in  vain 
attempting  to  speak  with  composure. 

In  a  careless  tone,  as  if  announcing  the  most  ordinary 
event,  he  replied,  — 


OR,  HIGHER  THAN  HAPPINESS.  113 

"  To-rnorrow  I  start  on  my  long-talked  of  visit  to 
Brentford.  From  there,  I  go  to  my  old  home  to  look 
after  my  affairs,  and  to  cheer  my  lonely  housekeeper." 

Did  he  know  that  every  word,  so  lightly  uttered,  was 
a  drop  of  torture  to  that  waiting  heart  ? 

Her  glorious  sunset  sky,  so  full  of  promise  for  a  bright 
to-morrow,  faded  suddenly  into  the  blank  dreariness  of 
night.  "  But  he  is  indifferent,"  so  she  thought  within 
herself,  "  and  I  will  show  him  that  I  can  be  so  also." 
Therefore,  in  measured  words,  she  replied,  — 

"  You  will  have  a  delightful  summer,  and  I  will  en- 
gage to  accomplish  a  great  deal  while  you  are  away." 

But  as  Maurice  had  not  intentionally  given  her  pain, 
so  neither  did  he  resent  her  apparent  unconcern.  He 
knew  that  she,  as  well  as  himself,  was  acting  a  part. 
But  better  so,  he  felt,  than  the  fatal  truth  be  confessed. 
And  time — what  would  not  time  accomplish,  at  least 
for  her  ? 

So  they  parted  —  with  less  seeming  emotion  on  both 
sides  than  that  with  which  they  had  sometimes  separated 
for  a  single  night.  Of  such  partings  life  hath  too  many. 
Resentment,  pride,  or  a  maidenly  sense  of  propriety, 
gives,  for  the  moment,  an  outward  calmness,  while  the 
heart  is  suffering  in  silence.  But  when  the  occasion 
that  arouses  this  stoicism  is  past,  —  then  burst  forth  pas- 
sionate tears,  and  the  external  utterances  of  a  woe  that 
will  no  longer  bear  constraint. 

Thus  it  was  with  Marion  after  Maurice's  departure. 
But  soon  followed  a  keen  sense  of  injustice.  What 
right  had  he  to  ply  her  ceaselessly  with  all  the  silent 
enginery  of  love  till  her  proud  spirit  was  conquered;  — 
and  then  leave  her  to  endure  the  mortifying,  the  merci- 
less pangs  of  unrequited  affection  ?  For  a  time,  indig- 


114  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

nation  towered  high  above  her  grief,  arming  her  with 
unnatural  strength. 

"  No  mortal  shall  ever  know  my  weakness,"  she  ex- 
claimed with  energy,  «  least  of  all,  he." 

But,  in  her  generous  nature,  anger  quickly  subsided. 
Then  Hope  stole  softly  in,  and  sat  down  close  beside  her 
sorrow,  gradually  easing  the  pain  of  its  presence.  "  Mau- 
rice was  too  noble  for  a  deceiver.  He  was  only  testing 
her  faith  and  her  fidelity."  Thus  whispered  the  charmer. 
"  He  shall  not  find  me  wanting,"  was  her  reply  to  Hope. 

In  the  power  of  this  resolve,  she  applied  herself  with 
renewed  energy  to  the  cultivation  of  her  mind,  deter- 
mined to  render  herself  more  worthy  of  Maurice's  re- 
spect :  —  that  was  the  word  on  her  lips. 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

"  God  keep  and  shield  thee, 

Sweet  baby  mine ! 
Spirit-life  yield  thee 
From  his  Divine 
In  blue  eyes  to  shine, 
Serenely  as  stars  through  the  azure  night-arches." 

IT  was  a  great  day  at  the  parsonage  at  Brentford,  for 
a  wondrous  stranger  had  arrived.  There  was  as  much 
bustle  on  the  occasion  as  if  the  Prince  of  Wales  had 
honored  the  household  with  his  royal  presence.  A 
smile  of  welcome  was  on  everybody's  face,  and  it  was 
evident  that  the  new  comer  was  by  no  means  regarded 
as  an  intruder. 

Let  us  peep  into  Mrs.  Maynard's  darkened  chamber, 
and  look  at  the  stranger  as  he  lies  on  the  broad  lap  of 
Mrs.  Ball.  She  has  just  drawn  a  delicate  white  robe 
over  the  small  head,  and  is  putting  the  tiny  arms  through 
the  sleeves.  Now  she  pulls  it  carefully  down,  and 
fastens  it  with  baby-pins  taken  from  a  blue  satin  pin- 
cushion, on  which  "  WELCOME  "  is  printed  with  little 
pin-heads.  Then,  with  a  soft  brush  which  she  finds  in 
the  neat  basket,  she  completes  the  infant  toilet 

"  Mr.  Maynard,  just  step  here.  I  declare  I  never  see 
the  like  of  this  head  of  hair  on  such  a  baby." 

During  Mrs.  Ball's  performance,  Mr.  Maynard  had 


116  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

been  sitting  by  the  bed-side,  holding  the  hand  of  hia 
wife,  and  looking  with  tearful  tenderness  on  her  pale 
face. 

Suddenly  he  was  summoned  to  look  at  baby's  hair. 
He  knew  almost  nothing  about  such  wee  people,  and 
could  not  be  confident  what  was  expected  from  them  in 
said  article  of  hair ;  but  was  ready  to  admire  in  any,  or 
every  direction. 

"  Would  you  like  to  heft  him,  sir  ?  " 

"  There's  a  jintleman,  ma'am,  as  wants  to  see  you  in 
the  parlor,  and  he  didn't  give  no  name." 

Bessie  stepped  lightly  down  the  stairs,  and  opened 
the  door. 

"  Darling  Maurice ! "  and  both  her  arms  were  around 
his  neck.  "  William  and  I  have  been  wondering  if  you 
wouldn't  come  here  to  see  your  little  namesake." 

And  without  waiting  for  his  reply,  she  hastened  back 
to  the  nursery,  and  putting  on  a  fresh  bib,  with  all  a 
mother's  pride  she  exhibited  her  first-born.  Maurice 
tenderly  kissed  his  forehead. 

"  But  I  must  beg  you,  dear  Bessie,  not  to  be  under 
the  delusion  of  supposing  I  have  come  this  long  way 
only  to  see  this  wonderfully  little  mite  of  a  being.  I 
have  still  a  small  degree  of  interest  in  his  young 
mother." 

"  Maurice  the  Second  is  now  the  centre  of  our  sys- 
tem." 

"And  as  you  all  revolve  around  him,  you  expect  me  to 
do  the  same  ?  Well,  we  shall  see  whether  or  not  I  can 
resist  the  law  of  attraction." 

"  We  think  he  has  something  of  your  looks." 

"  I  trust  he  inherits  his  uncle's  virtues  as  well." 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  117 

Both  William  and  Bessie  thought  they  had  never 
known  Maurice  in  such  excellent  spirits.  Had  they 
been  able  to  look  below  the  surface,  they  might  have 
judged  differently.  But  this,  no  human  eye  was  per- 
mitted to  do. 

He  soon  attached  himself  to  his  little  namesake,  and, 
easily  acquiring  the  art  of  entertaining  him,  devoted 
many  a  half  hour  to  his  amusement. 

"  Who  knows,"  said  he  one  day  to  Bessie,  "  but  that 
his  bachelor  uncle  may  carry  him  off  some  day  ?  My 
mother  gave  me  up,  and  why  shouldn't  you  do  the  same 
by  your  boy  ?  I  should  then  feel  less  reluctance  to  es- 
tablish myself  at  my  old  home,  as  I  am  planning  to  do." 

"  Oh,  don't  go  back  into  heathendom,  just  as  we  are 
getting  you  civilized.  And  as  for  little  Morry,  look  up 
into  mamma's  eyes,  darling,  and  tell  her  whether  you 
want  to  run  off  into  the  woods  with  uncle." 

The  child  did  as  he  was  bidden,  but  gave  no  answer. 

"  Morry,  will  you  come  to  uncle,  and  be  his  boy,  and 
live  with  him  in  his  hermitage  ?  " 

And  fixing  his  deep  eyes  lovingly  upon  the  child,  he 
held  out  his  arms.  The  baby  sprang  exultingly,  and, 
stretching  forth  his  little  hands,  leaped  into  his  uncle's 
arms,  nestling  his  head  close  upon  his  shoulder.  Mau- 
rice tenderly  pressed  him  to  his  heart,  exclaiming, — 

"  The  child  has  settled  the  question.  There  is  one, 
then,  in  this  wide  world,  willing  to  leave  father  and 
mother  and  cleave  unto  me.  Remember  this,  Bessie, 
when  I  come  to  claim  him." 

As  he  spoke,  his  sister  fancied  there  was  a  tear  glis- 
tening on  his  lashes,  but  she  could  not  be  sure.  There 
was  certainly  more  in  the  scene  than  met  the  eye, 
and,  for  some  reason,  she  was  deeply  moved.  Afler 


118  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

a  moment's  silence,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  she  re- 
plied,— 

"  Perhaps  another  may  claim  him." 

She  hardly  knew  why  she  said  this;  but  the  time 
came  when  it  returned  to  her  with  great  vividness. 

"  If  I  may  speak  my  mind,"  said  Maurice  one  day  to 
Mr.  Maynard,  "  your  house  is  rather  below  par." 
"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  contradict  you." 
"  Why  then  do  you  not  hire  a  better  one  ?  " 
"  From  dire  necessity.     It  is  difficult  to  find  a  suita- 
ble house  ;  and  if  there  was  one,  we  could  not  afford  the 
rent." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  I  will  build  you  a  house." 
"  Not  so,  dear  brother.     But  if  you  are  in   earnest, 
you  can  do  what  will  be  better." 

"  I  am  in  earnest.  So  what  do  you  propose  ?  " 
"  If,  after  due  deliberation,  you  choose  to  see  a  few 
of  our  leading  men,  and  to  tell  them  that  if  they  will 
contribute  two  thousand  dollars  towards  building  a 
house,  you  will  make  it  up  to  three  thousand,  I  think 
you  will  be  the  means  of  putting  us  into  a  comfortable 
parsonage." 

"  But  why  not  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  doing  the 
whole  ?  " 

"  Because  it  will  be  better  for  our  people  to  depend, 
in  part  at  least,  upon  themselves.  And  in  that  case, 
they  will  also  feel  a  greater  interest  in  the  enterprise." 

Maurice  did  not  long  delay  his  negotiating ;  and  it 
was  soon  noised  through  the  town,  that  a  parsonage 
was  going  to  be  built  on  Prospect  Street.  In  this 
instance,  rumor  was  not  much  ahead  of  the  fact.  In 
less  than  one  week  from  the  time  when  Maurice  first 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  119 

broached  the  subject,  the  site  was  chosen,  the  lot  pur- 
chased, and  a  contract  made  for  the  immediate  erec- 
tion of  the  house.  The  whole  parish  took  a  great  in- 
terest in  the  matter,  and  everybody  was  suggesting  how 
it  should  be  built.  This  important  question,  however, 
was  not  left  to  everybody's  say^  so,  but  was  quietly  set- 
tled in  Bessie's  parlor,  Maurice  drawing  the  plan,  and 
William  and  Bessie  proposing  such  alterations  as  oc- 
curred to  them. 

"  I  wish  Elsie  could  see  our  boy,"  said  Bessie  one  day, 
when  Maurice  had  gone  to  a  neighboring  town. 

"  We  will  take  him  there  this  afternoon,  if  you 
like." 

Slowly  they  climbed  the  steep  little  hill,  drawing 
baby  in  the  carriage.  Lifting  him  over  the  tottering 
staircase,  Mr.  Maynard  knocked  at  the  chamber  door. 
All  as  a  mere  form,  however,  for  nobody  expected 
Elsie  to  hear.  After  waiting  the  usual  time  for  nobody 
to  come,  they  walked  in. 

"  Bless  yer  hearts ! "  said  the  old  woman  bustling 
towards  them,  and  setting  out  chairs.  "  I  was  jist  that 
minute  a  wonderin'  if  'twas  true  as  I've  hearn  tell,  that 
they're  buildin'  ye  a  new  nest." 

"  I  suppose  there's  no  doubt  of  it,  Elsie." 

"  Well  now,  Fse  glad,  and  thankful  too." 

All  this  time  she  had  been  so  intent  on  ascertaining 
the  truth  of  the  report,  that  she  had  no  eyes  or  ears  for 
aught  else.  Suddenly,  however,  she  caught  sight  of 
the  little  one. 

"  Land's  end !  If  that  ar'  an't  the  wonderful  critter 
of  whom  I've  hearn  ivery  body  a  talkin'.  Let  me  sight 
him  nearer,  La,  now  !  niver  ye  fear,  for  I  won't  break 


120  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

him.  Many  more's  the  babies  I've  dandled,  than  iver 
ye  sot  eyes  on,  I  guess  likely.  Bless  his  little  soul,  no 
harm'll  come  to  him  with  me." 

And  the  old  woman,  making  a  broad  lap,  took  Master 
Maurice  thereon,  and  began  to  trot  him,  as  if  she  well 
knew  what  she  was  about.  Her  baby-talk,  which  she 
evidently  had  not  forgotten,  was  strangely  mingled  with 
remarks  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maynard,  producing  altogether 
an  original  dish  of  conversation. 

"  Did  ye  come  to  see  old  Elsie  ?  Well  ye'se  a  party 
critter.  I  guess  ye  thinks  a  sight  o'  him,  and  well  ye 
may.  Tell  Elsie  a  story  now.  Goo:  that's  the 
way  to  begin.  When  do  ye  'spect  the  new  house  will 
be  done  ?  That's  right !  Keep  yer  little  arms  a  flyin' 
as  if  ye  was  a  vindmill.  '  Rock-a-by,  baby,  on  the  tree 
top.'  It's  queer  though,  the  nonsense  that  tickles  these 
like.  Do  see  him  laugh.  Ah !  he  minds  me  o'  my  own 
boy.  I  was  as  proud  a  mother  as  iver  trod  the  airth. 
The  curls  grew  thick  all  over  his  head,  and  he  had  a 
dimple  in  his  chin.  How  pleased  his  sir  was !  But 
it's  foolish  for  me  to  be  a  pratin'  thus.  They're  gone  to 
heaven,  and  I'll  be  there  to  rights.  Now  if  he  an't  been 
a  grievin'  up  his  lip,  'cause  I  puts  on  a  long  face." 

And  she  resorted  again  to  mother  Goose.  When,  at 
length,  she  returned  him  to  his  mother,  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  May  the  Lord  make  ye  both  better  sarvants  for  this 
clear  critter !  And  don't  ye  go  for  to  settin'  of  him  up 
for  an  idol.  Jist  as  sure  as  ye  do,  he'll  be  taken,  in 
marcy  to  ye." 

After  a  little  breathing  space,  with  increasing  anima- 
tion, she  continued,  — 

"Dea.  Jones  tells  me  ye're  havin'  solemn  meetins. 
And  he  says  ye're  a  preachin'  up  o'  the  doctrines. 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  121 

They  didn't  do  much  at  that  when  I  was  young,  but 
anyhow,  I  loves  the  Lord." 

"  You  get  the  doctrines  fresh  from  the  Bible. 

"  I  hopes  I  do.  And  I  niver  tire  o'  readin'.  I  sit  by 
this  ere  winder,  and  look  out  on  the  water  jist  as  ye'd 
look  at  the  buryin'  ground,  if  yer  dear  ones  was  there. 
For  that's  the  grave  of  my  man  and  the  lad.  And 
when  Gabril's  trumpet  is  a  soundin',  they'll  hear  it  jist 
as  quick,  as  if  they  laid  in  the  green  church-yard  yon- 
der. '  For  this  corruptible  shall  put  on  incorruption,  and 
this  mortal  immortality.'  What  blessed  truths  them  is." 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  me  pray  with  you,  Elsie  ?  " 

"  'T would  be  a  real  treat." 

"  What  shall  I  pray  for  ?  " 

"  That  I  may  have  a  thankful  heart,  and  patience  to 
bide  my  time." 

Elsie  knelt  close  by  the  minister's  side,  drinking  in 
every  word  that  fell  from  his  lips.  Bessie  sat  next  her 
in  a  low,  straight-backed  chair,  watching  the  baby  in 
her  lap,  as  his  tiny  fingers  were  trying  to  close  round  a 
sunbeam  that  lay  softly  on  his  mother's  arm.  When 
Mr.  Maynard  had  finished,  Elsie  turned  her  head 
towards  the  baby  before  rising. 

"  Only  see  them  fingers !  Mabbe  he  thinks  he  can 
climb  up  on  the  sunbeam." 

And  she  began  to  make  noises  and  put  down  her 
head  to  attract  his  attention.  Slily  he  reached  up  his 
arms  as  if  with  mischievous  intent,  and  suddenly 
caught  off  her  snuff-colored  turban.  Her  gray  hair 
came  flying  down  in  every  direction,  giving  her  a  most 
weird-like  appearance. 

"  There's  roguery  in  him,  if  he  is  the  minister's  son," 
said  she,  quickly  replacing  her  head  gear. 


122  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

"  You  still  have  all  you  want  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  May- 
nard. 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  I've  more  than  I  want  for  me  and  my 
cat.  And  now  I've  a  mouse  besides,  that  comes  to  me 
ivery  day  to  be  fed,  and  it's  a  purty  critter,  as  iver  ye 
see." 

"  If  you  would  like  more  such  pets,"  said  Bessie, 
speaking  in  her  ear,  "  we  can  supply  you  with  plenty, 
and  not  rob  ourselves  either." 

Elsie  shook  all  over  at  this  sally,  her  gray  eyes  spark- 
ling with  laughter. 

"  I  have  only  one  fault  to  find  with  Elsie,"  said  Mrs. 
Maynard,  as  they  were  returning  home. 

"  I  can  guess  what  it  is." 

"  I  suppose  it  must  be  owing  to  her  extreme  age,  but 
she  is  so  untidy." 

"  I  have  a  plan  in  my  head,"  said  Bessie,  as  they 
were  taking  tea  not  many  days  after  their  visit  to  Elsie. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  going  to  collect  a  little  sum,  and  then  get 
Molly  High  to  give  her  a  regular  house-cleaning." 

"  A  harder  task,  I  fear,  to  get  Elsie's  consent." 

"  Well,  I  can  but  try." 

"  You  have  never  taken  me  to  see  that  famous  char- 
acter," said  Maurice. 

"  I  shouldn't  presume  to  do  so  with  all  your  fastid- 
iousness. But  when  she  is  put  in  order  you  shall  go, 
for  she  is  truly  worth  seeing." 

"  I  think,  then,  I  ought  to  pay  for  the  job,"  said  he, 
taking  out  his  portemonnaie. 

"  I  can't  allow  you  the  privilege,  for  everybody  would 
be  giving  me  the  credit." 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  123 

The  next  day  she  set  about  the  business,  and,  easily 
raising  a  sufficient  sum,  proceeded  to  Mrs.  High's. 

"  She  has  a  drefful  prejis  agin  water,"  said  Molly, 
shaking  her  head  ominously,  "  and  I'm  afeared  ye'll 
niver  make  out.  But  so  be  she'll  let  me,  I'll  do't  and 
welcome,  for  'twould  improve  her  a  heap." 

"  I'll  go  right  over  and  try  to  persuade  her." 

Mrs.  High  shook  her  fat  sides,  and  when  she  saw 
Mrs.  Maynard  going  up  the  steps,  sat  down  and  laughed 
till  the  house  rang  again. 

"  She's  a  purty-spoken  lady,  but  if  she  gets  the  like  o' 
Elsie  Green  to  cussent  to  any  such  a  scrubbin',  my  name 
isn't,  and  niver  was  Molly  High." 

Bessie  felt  that  her  task  was  a  difficult  one,  but  her 
zeal  for  Elsie's  improvement  gave  her  courage. 

"  Well,  ye'se  good  to  come  agin  so  soon.  And  how 
is  young  master  ?  " 

Having  answered  her  questions,  Bessie  entered  on  her 
diplomacy. 

"  Your  room  is  airy,  and  it  would  be  very  pleasant  if 
it  were  only  cleaned  up  a  little." 

Her  delicacy  made  her  timid,  and  she  was  obliged  to 
repeat  the  remark  several  times  before  Elsie  caught  it. 

"  It's  far  pleasanter  to  me  now  than  'twould  be  with 
all  the  tumblins  up  in  the  world.  I'm  an  inemy  to  all 
innovvations." 

"  But  you  would  like  to  have  your  walls  washed,  and 
your  ceiling  white-washed,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

Elsie  opened  her  small  gray  eyes  in  astonishment. 

"  I  likes  'em  a  sight  best  jist  as  they  ar'.  They've 
stood  for  long,  and  will  stand  me  yet,  while  I  stays,  like 
a  good  old  friend." 

"  But  you  like  some  new  friends,  and  I  am  sure  you 


124  MARION  GRAHAM; 

would  like  your  walls  better  if  they  were  once  fairly 
cleaned." 

"'Twouldn't  seem  nat'ral  like." 

tt  But  it  would  be  so  much  more  healthy  for  you." 

"  La  sakes  !  I'se  tough  enough.  And  I  an't  a  grain 
afeared  but  I'll  last  out  my  time." 

Bessie  saw  there  was  no  persuading  her  in  that  wise, 
so  she  tried  another  tack. 

"  The  ladies  have  given  me  some  money  for  the  sake 
of  having  your  room  put  in  order." 

"  I'se  e'enamost  sorry.    But  rnabbe  it's  rude  to  say  so." 

Bessie  took  no  notice  of  her  demur,  but  continued,  — 

"And  Mrs.  High  is  ready  to  begin  to-morrow.  Now 
please  consent,  just  for  our  sakes ;  and  when  you  are  all 
in  nice  order,  I  know  you'll  be  glad.'' 

Elsie  laughed,  saying,  — 

"  It  goes  right  agin  the  grain,  but  I  s'pose  ye'll  do  what 
ye're  a  mind  to  for  all  me,  so  I  won't  fight  no  longer." 

This  was  all  she  could  get ;  but  she  made  the  most  of 
it,  and  went  back  in  triumph  to  Mrs.  High,  who  stood 
watching  her  from  the  window. 

"  That  ar'  beats  all,"  she  exclaimed  on  hearing  Mrs. 
Maynard's  story. 

"  Now  you  must  go  in  to-morrow  before  she  repents 
And  when  you  get  all  the  rest  done,  you'll  just  persuade 
her  to  let  you  wash  her  face,  won't  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  High  dropped  into  a  seat,  and  putting  her  arms 
a-kimbo,  she  swung  her  body  back  and  forth,  giving 
vent  to  her  boisterous  merriment. 

"  Ye'll  take  no  offence,  ma'am,  but  the  wery  idee 
tickles  me  mightily.  Massy  on  me!  Why,  her  face 
han't  had  a  cleaning  up  for  years,  I  may  say.  She 
only  washes  her  hands  once  an  age." 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  125 

"  Quite  time  then,  I  should  think,  that  somebody  do 
it  for  her." 

"  Well,  I'll  try  my  best  to  plase  ye,  but  the  whole 
ont'll  be  a  tough  job,  I  guess." 

Bessie  put  two  dollars  into  her  hand,  saying,  — 

"  You  shall  have  more  when  you  get  through,  if  you 
say  so." 

"  Oh,  no !  Ye'll  find  me  ready  to  do  a  neighborly 
turn,  without  extra  pay." 

Not  many  days  after,  Bessie,  accompanied  by  Maurice, 
went  to  see  how  her  commission  had  been  executed, 
calling  on  their  way  at  Mrs.  High's.  The  moment 
Molly  saw  her,  she  broke  out  into  one  of  her  fits  of  im- 
moderate laughter,  and  it  was  some  minutes  before  she 
could  commence  her  story. 

"  Sich  a  time  I  niver  had  afore.  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been 
through  the  wars.  The  day  arter  you  was  here,  I  took 
a  pail  o'  whitewash  and  a  brash,  and,  choosing  the 
time  when  I  knew  she  was  out  of  her  room,  I  hastened 
in  and  'gan  op'rations.  Purty  soon  Elsie  cum  in,  but 
jist  noddin'  to  her,  I  went  straight  ahead. 

" '  What  be  you  about  here  ?  '  said  she,  arter  starin' 
at  me  some  time. 

'  Mrs.  Maynard  says  you  cussented  to  have  me  come 
and  clean  you  up.' 

'  Great  cussenting  I  did.' 

'  Well,  ary  way,  she  telled  me  to  come  and  do't, 
and  I've  come,  and  mean  to  do't.' 

'  Well,  well,  it's  rayther  hard  for  an  old  body.' 

"  She's  drefful  sot,  is  Elsie ;  but  she  an't  ugly.  So, 
seeing  she  couldn't  help  herself  no-how,  she  must  needs 
stand  and  stare  at  me.  It  tickled  me  to  see  her  looking 
for  all  the  world  suspicious-like,  as  if  I  was  set  on  her 


120  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

for  harm,  and  she  was  a  tryin'  hard  to  forgive  me.  When 
I  Jugged  in  my  pail  of  water,  —  land's  end !  what  a  sigh 
she  fetched,  and  sot  right  down  on  that  ar'  settle  o' 
hern,  as  if  she  was  clean  beat  out.  She  see  there  wa'n't 
no  kinder  use  in  fightin',  so  she  wouldn't  waste  her 
powder. 

"  I  'clare  I  niver  did  see  sich  a  heap  o'  smoke  and  dirt, 
and  I  couldn't  begin  to  get  through  that  day.  But  the 
next  day,  I  finished  all  up  in  the  arternoon.  As  I  kept 
eyin'  her  all  along,  I  see  that  she  really  was  gettin'  to  look 
kind  o'  pleased,  though  she  tried  hard  enough  not  to  let 
me  know  it, 

"  I  thought  'twas  only  right  to  gi'n  the  poor  crit- 
ter a  rest  afore  I  came  down  on  herself  with  the  scrub- 
bin',  so  I  waited.  Arter  breakfast  the  next  mornin',  I 
took  a  pail  of  hot  water,  my  own  washbowl,  some 
towels,  a  scrubbin'  cloth  and  soap,  and  went  in.  Faith  ! 
but  'twas  the  wust  job  o'  the  whole. 

" '  What  is  it  ? '  says  she,  as  I  took  a  large  towel  to  pin 
round  her  neck. 

'  Why,  the  parson's  wife  charged  me  to  wash  yer 
face  clean,  she  did.' 

" « Well,  I  spose  you  must  then,'  and  she  seemed  as 
if  she  was  jist  ready  to  go  off  into  a  cry.  It  was  more 
than  I  could  stand,  to  see  her  a  lookin'  for  all  the  world 
as  if  I  was  a  fixin'  her  out  to  be  hung.  So  I  had  jist  to 
drop  and  run.  When  I  had  got  my  full  of  laugh,  I 
went  at  her  as  if  she  was  a  dirty  piece  o'  furniture,  as 
sure  enough  she  was.  Puttin'  on  soap,  I  scrubbed  her 
face  and  neck  with  power,  she  sittin'  all  the  time  jist 
like  a  martyr.  Then  I  rinsed  her  off  a  heap  o'  times. 
At  last,  says  Elsie,  says  she,  — 

'  Well,  I  shan't  live  so  long  for  these  ere  doins  ;  but 
no  matter.' 


OR,    11ICIIER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  1 -J7 

"  La,"  says  I,  "  ye'll  live  all  the  longer  for  yer  good 
scourin.' 

"  And  then  I  combed  her  white  hair,  and  brushed  it 
smooth.  But  she  was  raal  sot  to  have  the  old  turban 
on,  and  so  I  humored  her.  Ye've  no  idee  how  much 
more  wholesomer  she  looks,  and  I  guess  likely  she's  rec- 
onciled to  herself  now.  So  I  don't  think  she  bears  you 
any  malice." 

Bessie  and  her  brother,  having  laughed  abundantly 
during  this  recital,  now  went  in  to  see  Elsie.  She  was 
sitting  on  the  well-scoured  settle,  with  her  Testament  in 
her  lap,  and  looking  as  if  she  belonged  to  a  different 
race.  The  old  woman  jumped  from  her  seat  even 
quicker  than  usual,  and,  before  Bessie  had  time  to 
introduce  her  brother,  she  exclaimed  with  earnest- 
ness, — 

"  Ye'se  had  it  all  yer  own  way,  Miss,  but  I'se  thank- 
ful to  ye,  though  'twas  real  tough.  Ye  see  I'se  got  all 
out  o'  the  way,  and  habit's  a  mighty  powerful  thing. 
But  I'se  free  to  say,  I  feels  a  sight  better,  and  I  think  I 
look  a'  most  as  good  as  new,"  and  she  laughed  with  a 
will.  "  But  what  put  it  into  your  young  head  to  have 
me  fixed  up  so  ?  " 

"  You  know  the  good  Book  says,  '  Let  every  thing  be 
done  decently  and  in  order,'  and  I  thought  you  would 
feel  happier  if  you  complied  with  the  direction.  Be- 
sides, I  owed  you  something  for  the  lesson  of  content- 
ment you  taught  me.  And  then  you  know,  Elsie,  God 
loves  purity,  and,  it  seems  to  me,  we  should  keep  our 
bodies  clean  as  well  as  our  souls." 

"  True  for  ye,  Miss,  and  I'll  rnind  me  on't.  I  won- 
der none  on  'em  iver  sot  out  on  this  like  afore." 

As  Bessie  contrasted  her  wholesome,  brown  complex- 


128  MARION  GRAHAM  ; 

ion  with  her  former  yellow,  begrimed,  leathern  face,  she 
felt  more  than  repaid  for  all  her  trouble. 

During  this  scene,  Maurice  had  leisure  for  an  ample 
survey  of  the  room  and  its  remarkable  occupant,  which 
he  did  not  fail  to  improve. 

"  This  is  my  brother,"  at  length  said  Bessie. 

Maurice  accepted  her  offered  hand,  and  bowed  with 
great  politeness. 

"A  minister,  is  he  ?  " 

"  No,  he  is  a  gentleman  at  large"  replied  she,  archly 
looking  at  Maurice. 

"  By  which  she  means  a  good  for  nothing  idler,"  was 
his  comment  repeated  in  Elsie's  ear. 

"Ah!  I  see  ye'se  on  terms  together.  Well,  he's  a 
real  jintleman  anyway,  that's  asy  seen ;  and  I  hopes  'tan't 
hurt  him  none  bein'  one,"  said  Elsie,  entering  into  the 
playful  spirit  of  her  guests. 

"  Can't  you  give  him  some  good  advice  ?  " 

"  I  adwise  him  to  be  good  hisself,  and  to  do  good  to 
others  ;  that's  the  best  I  can  say,"  replied  she  laughing. 

"  Both  of  them  the  hardest  things  in  the  world,  Elsie, 
for  me." 

Her  face  wore  a  serious  look  as  she  made  answer,  — 

"  Not  if  ye  puts  away  yer  nat'ral  pride,  and  looks  to 
the  Lord  Jesus." 

"  But  it's  hard  to  change  one's  habits,  as  I  heard  you 
say  yourself  this  afternoon,"  observed  he,  finding  him- 
self really  interested  in  the  simple-hearted  woman. 

"  True  for  ye.  I  knows  that  ar*  well.  But  ye  an't 
got  to  do't  without  help.  And  what  I  said  in  sport- 
like,  it's  no  more  than  ivery  one  on  us  oughter  be  and 
do.  And  we  all  can  do't  too,  if  we're  villin'  to  look  to 
the  Saviour." 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  129 

"  I  am  sorry  not  to  agree  with  you  there,"  said  he, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  What !  that  we  oughtenter  do  good  ?  "  interrupted 
she  in  her  zeal,  not  giving  him  time  to  explain  himself. 
"  Supposin',  now,  the  sun  there  that's  a  shinin'  away  so 
beau'ful,  should  go  to  shuttin'  up  all  them  ar'  bright 
beams  o'  his'n  into  his  own  bussum !  " 

"  This  would  be  a  colder,  darker  world  even  than  it 
is  now." 

"  True  for  ye.  And  'twould  be  raal  ongrateful-like 
in  the  sun,  a  grantin'  it  to  know  any  thing,  to  keep  all 
God's  dear  light  and  heat  to  hisself.  And  'twould  be 
mighty  selfish  too,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

He  bowed,  smiling  to  see  how  she  was  coming  down 
upon  him  with  her  straight-forward  logic. 

"  Well,  now,  God  has  gi'n  ye  a  warm  heart;"  —  he 
shook  his  head.  "  Nay,  I  know  he  has  by  them  eyes  o' 
yourn,  and  talons  too ;  and  I  hopes  ye  wouldn't  be  a 
hidin'  on  'em  in  a  napkin,  when  ye  might  make  a  heap 
o'  folks  happy.  But  ye  won't  be  'fronted  with  my  bold- 
ness." 

"  Oh,  no !  but  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  me  a  hard 
case." 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  with  you  now,"  said  he  to  his  sister, 
« but  I'll  come  again,  Elsie." 

Leaving  the  old  place,  they  walked  together  till  they 
came  to  a  huge  pile  of  rocks,  heaped  up  by  nature  in 
disorderly  profusion,  and  overgrown  with  gray  and  yel- 
low moss,  and  stinted  shrubs. 

"  Where  are  we  now,  Mistress  Maynard  ? "  asked 
Maurice,  pausing  in  astonishment  at  the  singular  pas- 
sage before  them. 

"  These  are  the  far-famed  '  Universal  Rocks,' ''  replied 


1:>0  MARION  GRAHAM; 

Bessie,  as  she  laughingly  climbed  the  narrow  foot-path 
that  led  to  their  summit,  and  then  began  to  descend. 

tt  Universal  Rocks,  are  they?  Named  from  the  Uni- 
verse I  suppose." 

"  Not  quite  so  mighty  an  origin.  They  \\  ere  chris- 
tened in  honor  of  that  Universalist  Church  we  just 
passed." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  they  were 
laboriously  descending  a  long  flight  of  stairs,  or  a  per- 
manent ladder  over  the  rocks.  It  was  constructed  parti  v 
of  earth  and  partly  of  logs,  with  a  fence  on  one  side. 
and  a  homely  railing  or  baluster  on  the  other.  Proceed- 
ing for  a  short  distance  along  a  narrow,  winding  road, 
they  came  out  upon  the  broad  street,  and,  turning  to 
the  left,  found  themselves  in  front  of  a  large  edifice  of 
great  symmetry,  erected  by  a  revolutionary  officer  for 
his  own  residence,  but  long  used  as  a  public  building. 
Maurice  had  been  struck  by  its  appearance,  and  Mr. 
Maynard  had  proposed  that  he  and  Bessie  should  visir 
it  this  afternoon  after  their  call  on  Elsie. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  magnificent  dwelling  for  those 
days,"  said  Maurice,  as  he  stood  gazing  upon  it  with 
folded  arms. 

"  Did  Mr.  Maynard  tell  you  of  Gen.  Washington's 
visit  to  its  owner  ?  " 

44 1  don't  recollect  it" 

"  They  say  the  General  pronounced  it  the  handsomest 
private  residence  he  had  ever  seen." 

u  That  is  not  improbable.  But  your  Brentford  seems 
to  have  figured  largely  in  those  days,  and  to  have  been 
quite  noted  for  its  public  characters.'" 

"  To  be  sure.  And  you  know  this  is  not  the  only 
mansion  that  Washington  has  made  memorable  by  his 


OR.    HIGHER  THJJf   HAPPTXE8B.  1 :"  1 

presence.  Bat  do  you  see  the  boys  ?  If  we  stand  talk- 
ing much  longer  we  shall  have  a  mob  about  us.  Are 
yon  ready  to  go  in?  " 

«•  I  am  ready. " 

As  they  entered,  Bessie  introduced  her  brother  to  one 
of  the  gentlemen,  who  courteously  took  them  over  the 
building.  Maurice  walked  through  the  lofty  rooms. 
surveying  with  admiration  the  exquisite  earrings  of  oak 
over  the  mantel-pieces,  and  the  window-alb  of 
all  of  which  adornments  were  brought  from 
Then  he  ascended  the  low.  broad  stairs,  with  their  rico 
mahogany  balustrades,  and  looked  with  interest  on  the 
handsome  panellings  of  the  haH 

"  What  a  grand  establishment  this  must  have  been ! " 
exclaimed  Bessie.  -And  what  a  pity  that  when  it  was 
put  up  for  sale,  yon  could  not  have  been  here  to  buy 
rt!" 

-  A  very  nice  place  for  a  stoic  and  a  hermit  to  bury 
himself  in,  I  admit.     But  I  have  never  been  covetous  of 
quite  so  splendid  a  mausoleum.     So  I  think  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  trade  for  it."7 

-  Well,  then,  let  us  hasten  to  our  humble  tenement ; 
for  Morry  darling  will  be  wondering  what  has  become 
of  us." 

So  they  walked  rapidly  homewards,  chatting  a*  they 
went. 

In  a  few  days.  Bessie  repeated  her  visit,  accompanied 
this  time  by  Mr.  Maynard.  He  was  quite  as  much 
pleased  with  the  reformation  as  she  expected,  and  his 
looks  contained  the  fullest  approval  of  her  enogy  and 
perseverance.  How  pleasant  was  that  old-fashioned 
room,  the  bright  sunshine  gilding  its  time-stained  but 
now  cleanly  walls.  And  when  they  looked  through 


132  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

the  clear  windows,  which  they  were  never  really  able  to 
do  before,  on  the  tranquil  bay,  dotted  with  white  sails, 
they  felt  that  it  was  indeed  a  sightly  prospect,  as  Elsie 
had  often  told  them. 

Some  good  people,  emulating  their  minister's  wife, 
undertook  to  have  Elsie  arrayed  in  a  new  suit  of  clothe  . 
And  they  succeeded  admirably,  save  in  one  article. 
No  persuasions  could  induce  the  old  woman  to  accept 
of  any  head-dress.  With  singular  pertinacity  she  in- 
sisted on  retaining,  in  its  long  occupied  position,  the 
brown  steeple  turban. 

"  I  likes  my  old  tattermauls  best.  But  to  please  ye,  I 
won't  be  sot,  so  I'll  say  nothin'  agin  a  new  gownd.  But 
my  ramshackles  here,"  putting  both  hands  tight  on  her 
brown  turban,  "  nobody  mustn't  touch." 

"  She  has  yielded  so  much,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  "  that 
we  had  better  not  urge  this  point,  at  least  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

Maurice  wrote  a  full  account  of  the  matter  to  the 
home-circle  at  Glenwood,  thereby  occasioning  a  great 
sensation. 

"  Who'd  a'  thought  of  our  little  Bessie's  being  equal 
to  such  undertakings  ?  "  said  Mr.  Vinton. 

"  I  allers  knowed  she  was  up  to  any  ting,"  said  old 
Judy  with  an  air  of  triumph,  as  if  she  had  just  won  a 
bet 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  133 


CHAPTER    XII. 

14  To  and  fro  in  his  breast,  his  thoughts  were  heaving  and  dashing, 
As  in  a  foundering  ship,  with  every  roll  of  the  vessel, 
Washes  the  bitter  sea,  the  merciless  surge  of  the  ocean." 

IT  is  the  lighter  passions  that  are  cured  by  change. 
The  edge  of  many  a  so-called  disappointment  in  love  is 
often  blunted  by  trifling  diversions.  But  it  is  not  thus 
with  a  passion  which  has  struck  its  roots  into  the  cen- 
tre of  one's  being,  and  absorbed  the  rich  life-juices.  To 
pluck  up  this  is  to  transform  the  heart  into  an  arid 
waste. 

In  carrying  out  his  stern  purpose,  Maurice  soon  found 
that  he  had  undertaken  no  ordinary  task.  But  his  will 
was  invincible.  And  his  resolution  to  return  to  his 
home  on  the  lake  was  only  strengthened  by  his  internal 
conflicts.  After  many  unsuccessful  efforts  to  dissuade 
him,  his  sister  abandoned  the  attempt,  saying,  — 

"  You  are  an  obstinate  fellow.  But  at  least  you  will 
meet  me  when  I  go  to  Glenwood,  and  spend  the  month 
of  August  with  us  there  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  odd,  and  bury  yourself  like  a  her- 
mit !  What's  the  use  ?  Why,  Marion  herself  would 
attract  anybody  but  a  stoic." 

"  But  I  am  a  stoic,  as  you  know,  and  a  hermit  besides. 
And  what  should  I  gain  by  denying  my  character  ?  " 


134  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  Oh,  but  you  would  make  such  a  grand  hero  for  a 
noble  girl  I  wot  of.  Indeed,  I  can't  feel  reconciled  to 
your  decision." 

"  I  attach  a  proper  value  to  your  high  estimate.  But 
you  must  remember  henceforth,  Bessie,  that  I  am  not  in 
the  market.  In  short,  I  should  prove  too  costly  a  pur- 
chase, and  should  therefore  be  obliged  to  buy  myself 
in." 

"  Maurice  and  Elsie  have  struck  up  a  wonderful 
friendship,"  said  Bessie  to  her  husband  on  the  last  day 
of  her  brother's  visit,  "  and  I  don't  know  how  either  of 
them  will  endure  the  separation." 

"  She  is  an  original,  and  has  a  fresh  heart.  In  short, 
she  is  just  such  a  character  as  Maurice  can  appreciate." 

"  He  is  as  much  of  an  original  as  she ;  indeed  I  never 
saw  any  one  like  him.  But  for  all  that,  he's  a  regular 
darling." 

"  Who  is  a  darling  ?  "  asked  Maurice,  suddenly  com- 
ing in  upon  them. 

"  You  know  the  old  proverb.    But  whither  now  ?  " 

"  I  only  came  in  search  of  my  hat.  I  am  bound  for  a 
good-by  stroll  through  your  quaint  old  town." 

"  Be  back  in  season  for  tea." 

"  Unless  Elsie  Green  should  invite  me,"  replied  he, 
smiling. 

Maurice  walked  leisurely  through  various  streets  and 
lanes,  which,  by  their  perverse  crookedness,  proved  that 
the  old  cow-tracks,  which  marked  them  out,  had  been 
devious  ones  indeed.  Here  and  there  the  buildings 
were  strangely  huddled  together,  as  an  earthquake,  sud- 
denly suspended,  might  have  left  them.  Catching 
pTeasant  glimpses  of  the  sparkling  water  through  occa- 
sional openings  on  the  left,  he%at  length  climbed  a  bluff 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  135 

called  "  The  Head,"  whence  he  commanded  a  fine  view 
of  the  unique  town,  as  it  lay  sleeping  in  the  afternoon 
sunshine. 

Never  was  there  a  place  laid  out  so  entirely  at  hap- 
hazard. The  dwellings,  scattered  upon  the  hills  and 
among  the  rocks,  of  which  last  there  was  certainly  no 
dearth,  looked  as  if  they  might  have  rainedvdown,  every 
one  continuing  to  stand  just  where  it  happened  to  alight. 
There  were  high  and  narrow  houses,  with  gable-roofs ; 
there  were  square  houses,  oblong  houses,  and  L-houses, 
with  gambrel-roofs,  W-roofs,  and  flat  roofs.  There 
were  tenements  in  the  old  style,  tenements  in  the  new 
style,  and  tenements  in  no  style  at  all ;  while  here  and 
there,  on  the  deserted  wharves,  stood  ancient  ware- 
houses, with  empty,  echoing  rooms,  and  great  iron- 
barred  shutters,  —  all  ghostly  relics  of  the  early,  com- 
mercial days  of  Brentford. 

In  the  older  parts  of  the  town,  no  two  streets  were 
parallel.  To  say  that  no  two  houses  were  parallel, 
might  be  a  slight  exaggeration ;  but  to  assert,  that  as 
much  irregularity  had  been  indulged  in  as  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case  would  admit,  is  strictly  true.  Some- 
times it  was  the  back  side  that  looked  towards  the  front, 
sometimes  the  hither,  and  sometimes  the  thither  side, 
occasionally  the  front,  and  now  and  then,  no  side,  but  a 
sharp  corner. 

In  the  newer  parts  of  the  town,  in  striking  contrast 
with  its  general  aspect,  were  a  number  of  elegant  dwell- 
ings, with  grounds  tastefully  laid  out  and  adorned  with 
shade-trees.  And  in  various  directions  throughout  the 
village,  tower,  steeple,  and  turret,  saint-like,  pointed 
aloft.  At  the  foot  of  the  bluff,  and  sweeping  gracefully 
round  the  village,  was  the  fair  harbor,  the  pride  and  the 


130  MARION    GRAHAM  J 

glory  of  Brentford.  The  view  on  every  side  was  as 
charming  as  it  was  peculiar,  —  the  very  jumble  and 
oddity  heightening  the  picturesque  effect. 

Descending  this  bluff,  Maurice  threaded  his  way  along 
the  precipitous  banks  of  the  harbor,  and  through  the 
lumbered  ship-yard,  whence  has  been  launched  many  a 
"  young  bride  of  the  sea  ; " 

While  "  lowly  on  the  breast  she  loves 
Sinks  down  her  virgin  prow." 

Then  he  carefully  picked  his  steps  among  the  ragged 
rocks,  and  over  queer  cross-ways,  and  curious  by-paths, 
till  he  found  himself  on  a  still  higher  eminence.  The 
sharp  angles,  rough  edges,  and  incongruous  features  of 
the  town  were  mellowed  in  the  distance,  giving  to  the 
landscape  in  that  direction  a  softened  and  pleasing  as- 
pect. 

Towards  the  east,  lay  stretched  out  before  him  the 
long,  white,  narrow  beach,  which,  in  musing  mood,  and 
sometimes  in  the  deep  twilight  with  a  feeling  akin  to 
awe,  he  had  so  often  trodden  from  one  end  to  the  other. 
The  glistening,  crested  waves  bowed  to  him  a  pensive 
adieu,  while  the  faithful  breezes  bore  onward  to  his  ear 
the  melancholy  farewell  of  the  sea.  Long  he  gazed 

"  at  the  steel-blue  rim  of  the  ocean, 
Lying  silent  and  sad  in  the  afternoon  shadows  and  sunshine." 

Retracing  his  steps,  and  passing  through  a  street  that 
ran  along  the  shore,  with  here  and  there  a  fish-fence, 
denoting  the  occupation  of  a  part  of  the  inhabitants,  he 
directed  his  course  towards  Fort  Lawsel,  famed  in  the 
history  of  our  two  wars  with  England.  Instead  of  en- 
tering the  gate  which  would  have  led  him  within  the 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  137 

fortress,  he  ascended  the  solid  embankment.  Beneath 
were  the  dilapidated,  dismal  barracks,  and  above  them 
stood  the  small  house  erected  for  the  commander.  For 
many  years  the  fort  had  been  manned  by  a  solitary 
woman.  Heavy  pieces  of  ancient  ordnance,  whose  iron 
throats  had  once  hurled  thundering  defiance  at  the  foe, 
now  lay  on  the  ground  rusting  in  a  glorious  inactivity. 

As  Maurice  slowly  trod  this  noted  esplanade,  his  eye 
took  in  a  wide  and  beautiful  panorama.  Below  him 
rolled  the  deep  blue  waters  of  the  bay,  perpetually  lav- 
ing the  foot  of  these  ruins,  the  mournful  surges  cease- 
lessly dashing  against  the  steep  bluff,  and  washing  over 
the  jagged,  sharp-pointed  rocks.  A  light-house,  on  a 
tongue  of  land  running  out  into  the  bay,  was  a  striking 
addition  to  the  rich  landscape.  Indeed  a  number  of 
light-houses  dotted  the  distant  coast,  and  gave  life  and 
beauty  to  the  scene,  especially  when  softly  gleaming 
out  upon  the  deepening  twilight  of  a  summer's  eve. 
The  placid  bosom  of  the  harbor  was  studded  with  glis- 
tening tiny  craft,  while  on  the  outer  horizon,  tall  ships, 
under  full  sail,  swept  gracefully  by  into  the  open  sea. 
Beyond  Brentford  light-house,  fair  islets  sat  upon  the 
water  like  sea-birds  warming  themselves  in  the  golden 
sunlight 

Among  these  was  Tac  Island,  renowned  in  modern 
times  for  its  chowder-parties,  as  it  was  in  days  of  yore 
for  its  connection  with  celebrated  events.  During  the 
last  war  a  merchant  vessel  passed  between  this  island 
and  the  fort,  pursued  by  a  long-boat  from  an  English 
gun-ship.  Running  a  short  distance  up  the  coast,  she 
put  in  to  the  opposite  shore,  the  crew  barely  escaping 
before  the  enemy  reached  and  fired  the  ill-fated  vessel. 

As  Maurice  gazed,  the  spirits  of  the   past  seemed, 


138  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

phantom-like,  to  gather  round  him.  For  it  was  a  spot 
rich  in  historic  and  traditional  interest. 

On  a  certain  Sunday  morning  in  1812,  the  good 
frigate  Constitution,  being  hotly  chased  by  a  British 
inan-of-war,  came  flying  into  Brentford  harbor,  where, 
in  the  arms  of  Fort  Lawsel  and  under  cover  of  her  guns, 
she  proudly  turned  to  give  warm  welcome  to  her  pur- 
suers. The  news  that  the  enemy  was  entering  the  port 
ran  as  on  electric  wires.  Religious  services  in  the  old 
meeting-houses  were  brought  to  a  speedy  close,  while 
the  different  congregations  rushed  in  a  body  towards 
the  scene  of  anticipated  action.  And  soon  the  shores 
of  the  bay  and  the  adjacent  hill-tops  were  covered  with 
eager  spectators. 

From  this  port  also  was  seen  the  unequal  contest  be- 
tween the  gallant  Lawrence  of  the  Chesapeake,  and  the 
Commander  of  the  Shannon,  whose  challenge  the  for- 
mer, unhappily  for  his  country,  felt  himself  bound  to 
accept  in  vindication  of  the  honor  of  the  American  flag. 

From  the  position  of  Brentford,  it  was  greatly  exposed 
in  those  perilous  times.  The  ships  of  the  enemy  were 
so  near,  that  on  a  clear  day  the  faces  of  those  on  board 
could  easily  be  distinguished.  For  mere  sport,  they 
would  sometimes  pretend  that  they  were  about  enter- 
ing the  harbor,  or  setting  fire  to  the  town.  And  often 
at  midnight,  the  cry  that  the  enemy  were  landing  at 
Gatnebar  would  suddenly  rouse  the  slumbering  inhab- 
itants. 

All  these  reminiscences,  with  which  Maurice  had  of 
late  become  familiar,  crowded  upon  him  in  that  last 
stroll.  Here  in  Brentford  too,  according  to  legendary 
and  poetic  lore,  took  place  that  notable  visitation  by 
the  women  of  the  town  upon  the  "  hord-horted  "  Lyford 


-  OR,   HIGHEK  THAN  HAPPINESS.  139 

Rosino,  handing  down  his  memory  in  the  annals  of  an  in-- 
glorious fame,  undeserved,  as  later  admitted  by  the  poet. 
And  not  far  distant  was  the  scene  of  the  good  par- 
son Avery's  death-prayer.  As  Maurice  recalled  the  le- 
gend, he  repeated  to  himself  a  few  stanzas  from  the 
lyrical  version. 

"  When  the  reaper's  task  was  ended,  and  the  summer  wearing  late, 
Parson  Avery  sailed  from  Newbury  with  his  wife  and  children  eight, 
Dropping  down  the  river-harbor  in  the  shallop  Watch  and  Wait. 

"  There  was  wailing  in  the  shallop,  woman's  wail  and  man's  despair, 
A  crash  of  breaking  timbers  on  the  rocks  so  sharp  and  bare, 
And  through  it  all  the  murmur  of  father  Avery's  prayer. 

"  From  the  struggle  in  the  darkness  with  the  wild  waves  and  the  blast, 
Oil  a  rock  where  every  billow  broke  above  him  as  it  passed, 
Alone  of  all  his  household  the  man  of  God  was  cast. 

"  And  still  the  fishers  out-bound,  or  scudding  from  the  squall, 
With  grave  and  reverent  faces  the  ancient  tale  recall, 
When  they  see  the  white  waves  breaking  on  the  rock  of  Avery's  fall." 

At  length  descending  the  fort,  Maurice  bent  his  steps 
towards  the  lower  part  of  the  town.  After  a  time  he 
made  a  sudden  turn,  and,  climbing  a  steep  hill,  stood 
within  the  old  burying-ground.  Here,  slackening  his 
pace,  he  silently  picked  his  way  among  numerous 
mounds  and  undecipherable,  moss-covered  head-stones, 
till  he  reached  the  summit. 

On  the  right,  the  silver  waters  of  Brentford  harbor 
rippled  peacefully  at  his  feet,  their  gentle  wavelets  flow- 
ing softly  into  many  a  little  cove,  and  lovingly  kissing 
its  pebbly  shores.  In  the  distance  he  caught  gleams  of 
the  ocean's  blue  disk,  while  at  his  left  an  arm  of  the 
sea  stretched  itself  out,  opening,  inland,  another  harbor, 


140  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

once  whitened  with  the  commerce  of  the  Indies.  Within 
the  sweep  of  his  vision  rose  the  dismantled  Fort 
Lawsel  which  he  had  just  left,  the  bright  summer  sun 
shining  full  upon  the  picturesque  ruins.  Below  the  hill, 
old-fashioned  tenements  were  scattered  along  the  wind- 
ing road,  while  further  back,  the  dwellings  lay  compacted 
together  like  a  city. 

After  feasting  his  eyes  with  the  surrounding  view, 
Maurice  turned  towards  the  white  marble  monument 
beside  him,  erected  as  a  memorial  of  more  than  three 
scores  of  seamen  who  had  perished  in  a  single  gale. 
And  he  thought  with  compassion  of  those  mothers  and 
daughters  and  wives  who,  during  that  sad  night,  listened 
with  gloomy  presagings  to  the  terrific  blasts.  Presag- 
ings,  alas,  too  true !  For  over  many  a  loved  and  lost 
one,  buried  suddenly  beneath  the  dashing  billows,  those 
howling  winds  had  knelled  out  a  dismal  dirge. 

As  the  eye  of  Maurice  ranged  among  the  dwellings 
of  the  living,  and  the  old,  crumbling  mansions  of  the 
dead  ;  —  as  it  rested  on  the  gleaming  waters  of  the  har- 
bor, and  then  stretched  away  towards  the  unbounded, 
restless  sea,  what  images  of  the  past  and  the  present,  of 
life  and  death,  of  time  and  eternity,  rushed  upon  his 
mind !  There  was  a  tumult  of  thought  and  feeling, 
which  the  changing  shadows  upon  his  countenance  but 
faintly  pictured  forth.  And  many  a  painful  questioning 
oppressed  him,  both  as  to  the  gloomy  Here,  and  the 
vast,  dim,  gloomier  Hereafter. 

Long  he  gazed,  for  it  was  his  last  visit  to  a  favorite 
haunt,  and  he  was  loth  to  tear  himself  away.  At 
length,  however,  he  descended  the  hill,  and  through 
cross-roads  made  his  way  to  the  tenement  of  his  aged 
friend. 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  141 

"  1  have  been  into  the  old  burying-ground,  Elsie."  said 
he,  for  with  her  he  had  laid  aside  much  of  his  wonted 
reserve,  and  besides  he  liked  to  draw  her  out. 

"  It's  a  sightly  spot,  Mr.  Vinton,  though  I  han't  been 
there  for  many  a  year." 

"  This  would  be  a  glorious  world  were  it  not  for  sin 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  For  what,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  For  sin,  Elsie." 

"  True  for  ye.     It's  sin  that  spiles  it  all." 

"  How  can  you  explain  it  that  God,  whom  you  wor- 
ship as  infinitely  good,  should  have  permitted  such  a 
terrible  curse  to  pollute  and  deface  our  earth  ?  " 

"  Can't  splain  it,  nor  understan'  it  nuther;  but  then 
its  so." 

"  Does  it  ever  make  you  doubt  whether  after  all  God 
is  so  very  good  ?  " 

Opening  wide  her  small  eyes,  she  repeated  as  if  she 
could  not  quite  comprehend  him,  — 

"  Doubt  ?  —  doubt  ?  —  what  does  ye  mane  ?  " 

The  repetition  of  the  question  served  only  to  increase 
her  bewilderment. 

"  Does  ye  mane  to  ask  if  I  iver  has  hard  thoughts 
o'  God  'cause  why  the  Debbil  'suaded  man  to  be 
wicked  ?  " 

"  Something  like  that,"  replied  he,  unable  to  repress 
a  smile  at  seeing  how  his  poisoned  missiles,  even  as  he 
had  expected,  or  he  would  not  have  tempted  her,  glided 
harmlessly  past  that  simple-minded  saint. 

"Ah,  sir !  I'se  bad  nuff,  but  I  hopes  I'se  not  a  blas- 
phemus,  like  that  ar'.  No,  indeed !  I  couldn't  no-how 
have  sich  a  thought  —  not,  sartin,  while  that  ar*  verse 
was  a  ringin'  in  my  heart,  *  God  so  loved  the  warld,  that 


142  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

he  gi'n  his  only  'gotten  Son,  that  whos'ever  b'lieveth 
on  him,  should  not  perish,  but  have  lastin'  life.'  Ah  ! 
Mr.  Vinton,  that  ar5  was  love  — '  his  only  'gotten  Son ; '  " 
and  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  "  I  can't  praise 
him  nuff,  noways.  But,  as  the  blessit  hymn-book  says, 

'  When  this  poor  lispin',  stammerin'  tongue 

Lies  silent  in  the  grave  ; 
Then  in  a  nobler,  sweeter  song, 
I'll  sing  thy  power  to  save.'  " 

And  with  clasped  hands,  she  lifted  up  her  eyes,  her 
countenance  shining  with  the  joy  of  heaven.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  continued,  — 

"  Soon  these  old  bones  will  lie  in  that  ar'  sightly  spot 
where  ye'se  been." 

"And  is  not  that  a  gloomy  thought  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  !  for  /  shall  then  be  in  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem, a  praisin'  my  Redeemer." 

"  But  before  you  get  there,  the  cold,  dark  river  must 
be  crossed." 

"  Jordan's  a  frightful  stream  to  the  nat'ral  man,  and 
this  old  bark's  got  to  ride  over.  But  I'se  longin'  for  my 
summons. 

'  \Vi'  Christ  in  the  wassel,  I'll  smile  at  the  storm.' 

And  when  I  get  on  tother  shore,  and  look  out  on  them 
ar'  «  sweet  fields  beyond  the  swellin'  flood '  that  the 
hymn-book  tells  on,  and  when  I  see  them  dear  ones 
that  has  gone  ahead,  and  fall  down  on  my  knees  afore 
my  Saviour,  ah,  then,  old  Elsie's  cup'll  be  brim-ful,  Mr. 
Vinton,  brim-ful." 

"  Well,  Elsie,"  said  he  when  he  could  control  himself 


OR,    HIGHRK    THAN    HAPPINESS.  14-j 

to  speak, "  I  hope  all  you  say  will  come  true ;  and  that, 
in  another  world,  you  will  tind  a  compensation  for  the 
sufferings  of  this." 

"  'Tisn't  'p&uation  that  I  want,  sartin.  '  Surely  good- 
ness and  marcy  has  followed  me  all  the  days  o'  my  life.' 
My  cup  has  oilers  been  full.  But  then  it's  a  brighter 
day  that's  a  comin'.  I  doesn't  hope, —  I  knows  it  sartin. 
Jist  as  sure  as  ye  sits  there,  it'll  all  come  true.  I  can't 
be  mistaken  noways,  'cause  ye  see,  the  Lord  has  prom- 
ised that  all  them  who  puts  their  trust  in  him  shan't 
niver  be  disappointed.  Now  I  does  trust  him  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul.  And  ye  don't  s'pose  the  dear  lovin' 
Lord  would  think  for  a  minute  of  breakin'  his  promise 
to  a  poor  critter  who  'pended  ivery  thing  on't.  No,  no. 
Ye'll  see  yersel  how  true  it'll  come.  My  black  sins, 
ivery  one  on  'em'll  be  washed  out,  and  I  shall  have  on 
a  shinin'  starry  robe,  sich  as  the  angels  wear.  Oh ! 
but  it's  too  much  for  a  wicked  critter  like  me,  only  he's 
promised  it,  he's  promised  it." 

"  Well,  Elsie,"  said  he  in  a  husky  voice  as  he  grasped 
her  hard  hand,  "  I  must  go,  but  don't  forget  me." 

"  Forget  ye  !  No,  indeed  !  I'se  truly  sorry  to  part 
wid  ye,  Mr.  Vinton.  I  shah1  oilers  mind  me  o'  yer  kind- 
ness to  the  old  woman ;  —  how  ye's  brought  me  fruit 
and  flowers  a'most  ivery  day.  And  'mong  all  my  friends, 
nobody  afore  hardly  iver  thought  to  bring  me  flowers ; 
—  s'pose  they  thought  I'se  past  heedin'  on  'em.  No  !  I 
shan't  forget  ye  noways,  and  I'll  pray  for  ye  as  long  as 
I  lives." 

"  We  shall  never  see  each  other  again,  Elsie." 

"  But  indeed  we  shah1.  We'll  meet  in  the  holy  city, 
on  the  streets  of  pure  gold,  only  ye'll  hardly  know-  me 
then.  But  we  shall  meet,  I'se  sure  o'  that,  and  I'll  pray 


14 i  MARION  GRAHAM; 

for't  ivery  mornin'  and  night.  Ah,  Mr.  Vinton,  ye  knows 
a  heap,  but  I  knows  one  thing  best.  Go  through  the 
strait  gate  ;  get  into  the  narrow  way,  and  ye  can't  miss 
it,  nohow.  Now  don't  fail  6*  heaven" 

And  wiping  her  eyes,  she  shook  his  hand  again 
and  again.  He  could  make  no  reply,  but  returning  her 
warm  pressure,  he  left  her. 

The  next  day  Maurice  set  out  for  his  solitary  home 
on  Lake  Champlain.  But  the  place  seemed  strangely 
changed.  His  favorite  haunts  were  dispossessed  of  their 
wonted  charm.  Day  after  day  dragged  by,  and  no  re- 
lief. Alas !  his  life  was  running  to  waste.  Full  of  no- 
ble aspirations  and  generous  impulses,  yet,  from  a  mis- 
taken view  of  the  great  end  of  his  being,  and  for  the 
want  of  some  worthy  object  of  pursuit,  every  thing  cen- 
tred in  self.  Thus,  in  the  utter  neglect  of  his  heaven- 
given  faculties,  and  under  the  desolating  influence  of  a 
passion  which  he  was  vainly  attempting  to  crush,  life 
was  an  oppressive  burden.  In  the  terrible  conflict,  his 
indomitable  will  began  to  waver,  and,  with  an  intensity 
not  to  be  conceived  of  by  an  ordinary  nature,  he  longed 
for  a  sight  of  that  face,  —  for  a  touch  of  that  hand.  It 
was  a  real  soul-thirst  that  naught  but  the  coveted 
draught  could  quench. 

It  was  on  a  sultry  day  in  the  latter  part  of  July,  that  he 
went  out  to  stroll  on  the  shores  of  the  lake.  Suddenly  the 
heavens  were  overcast,  and  a  dense  cloud  of  portentous 
blackness  began  to  discharge  its  fearful  contents.  Flash 
after  flash  of  lurid  lightning  blazed  out  from  the  cloud- 
rifts,  illumining  the  lake  with  resplendent  coruscations, 
while  from  the  terrific  cannonry  of  heaven  peal  followed 
peal  in  sublime  majesty.  Over  the  waters  and  from  one 
hill-top  to  another,  they  leaped  with  appalling  rapidity, 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  145 

till  Maurice  was  almost  blinded  by  the  constant  sheets 
of  flame,  and  deafened  with  the  thunder's  ceaseless  re- 
verberations. And  yet  all  that  was  passing  around 
him  was  well-nigh  unheeded ;  for,  as  he  strode  along 
the  shore,  a  wilder,  madder  tempest  raged  within  his 
breast.  The  mighty  tide  of  passion  had  been  setting  in 
and  setting  in,  till  it  rode  high  and  fierce  above  all  ob- 
stacles. Either  a  dam  must  now  be  erected  by  superhu- 
man strength,  or  it  must  rush  on  in  its  resistless  course. 

"  The  die  is  cast,"  he  exclaimed,  his  voice  mingling 
with  the  contending  elements.  "  Am  I  then  a  monster 
to  be  shunned,  that  I  should  make  so  unheard-of  a  sac- 
rifice ?  Must  I  yield  every  thing  and  gain  nothing  ? 
Long  enough  have  I  fought  single-handed  against  winds 
and  waves.  From  this  moment  I  will  fling  myself  upon 
the  broad  sea,  and,  like  driftwood,  float  whithersoever 
fate  may  bear  me." 

With  this  resolve  he  grew  suddenly  calm. 

Marion  knew  when  Bessie  was  expected,  and  hastened 
to  welcome  her.  Having  exchanged  the  warmest  and 
most  sisterly  greetings,  she  took  the  baby  in  her  arms, 
and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  rosy  cheek.  Was  it  tenderer 
for  the  name  he  bore  ? 

But  what  is  it  that  suddenly  sends  the  blood  coursing 
through  her  veins,  while  the  light  of  joy  blazes  in  her 
eye  ?  Without  a  thought  of  meeting  him,  she  had 
not  schooled  herself  into  the  proper  degree  of  warmth, 
—  no  more  —  no  less.  Fortunately,  no  eye  was  upon 
her  but  his  and  little  Morry's ;  and  babies  tell  no 
tales.  Maurice's  heart  secretly  exulted  in  her  uncon- 
scious display  of  emotion,  yet  neither  by  word  or  look 
did  he  betray  his  knowledge  of  it. 


146  MARION   GRAHAM  | 

"  Ye  nebber  see  nudder  sich  a  baby,  I'se  sartin,  Massa 
Maurice." 

"  Never,  Judy  !  but,  do  you  know  the  secret  of  his 
charms  ?  "  asked  he  with  the  utmost  gravity. 

"  I  nebber  hearn  nuttin  tall  pertickelar,  'bout  any 
charmin'  secret." 

"  I  can  easily  enlighten  you.  You  know  there's  a 
great  deal  in  a  name.  And  how  could  you  expect  any 
thing  but  wonders  from  him,  with  the  name  he  bears  ?  " 

"  La  sakes,  now ! "  laughed  out  Judy.  "  I  nebber 
thought  ob  dat  ar'.  Ye  be'se  drefful  funny.  But,  dear 
me !  'Pears  like  I'se  gone  'stracted  wid  joy  to  see  ye 
all  agin." 

"  You  seem  very  like  Bessie  Vinton,  only  a  trifle 
stouter,"  said  Marion  as  she  sat  beside  her  friend,  while 
Judy  was  tossing  baby  in  her  arms. 

"  And  you  seem  exactly  like  Marion  Graham,  only 
more  so." 

"  More  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  more  so.  But  never  mind  what  I  mean.  You 
might  resent  it  as  flattery." 

"  You  are  wise,  then,  not  to  make  the  experiment  of 
explaining  it." 

"  Dare  now,  babby,"  said  Judy,  resigning  her  charge, 
"  I'se  got  to  see  dat  ye  don't  none  on  ye  starve,  'cause  I 
spects  ye're  mighty  hungry." 

"  Take  care,  Judy,"  said  Bessie,  "  you  must  make  no 
implications." 

"  Wat  is  dat  —  'plecations  ?  " 

"  I  mean  you  mustn't  think  we're  quite  starved,  though 
I  never  presumed  to  compare  myself  with  you  as  a 
cook." 

"  But  dem  snowy  hands  o'  yourn  wan't  made  to  put 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINK-.  147 

inters  ebery  ting.  And  dese  yer  Irish  knows  nuttin  fall 
'bout  nice  cookin'.  So  I'll  take  care  dat  ye  lives  high 
while  ye'se  unner  my  'spensation." 

"  Not  too  high  ;  you  wouldn't  make  us  sick." 

"  I'll  do't,  ye'll  see.  Dare's  a  right  way,  but  'tan't 
eberybody  dat  knows  it." 

It  was  not  till  two  or  three  days  after  the  arrival,  that 
Maurice  called  to  inquire  into  Marion's  progress,  and  to 
propose  resuming  their  studies.  When,  in  answer  to 
his  queries,  she  showed  him  the  amount  of  her  reading, 
he  exclaimed  with  surprise,  — 

"  You  have  indeed  made  good  use  of  your  time." 

"And  you  ?  " 

"  Me !  Ah,  I've  been  a  most  miserable  idler,  follow- 
ing every  passing  whim." 

As  she  looked  up  to  see  if  he  was  serious,  he  added 
emphatically,  — 

"  It  is  literally  so,  Miss  Graham.  You  surely  have  no 
doubt  that  idleness  is  my  vocation  ?  " 

"  I  confess  I  have  sometimes  wondered,"  replied  she 
timidly,  "  how  one  like  you  could  rest  in  so  limited  a 
sphere." 

"  I  certainly  am  not  guilty  of  resting  in  it.  If  your 
favorite  text-book  is  at  hand,  I  think  I  can  point  out  my 
precise  condition." 

"  Tell  me  first  what  the  wonderful  book  is,  and  then, 
if  I  can,  I  will  tell  you  where  it  is." 

" '  Sartor  Resartus,'  to  be  sure.  Have  you  forgotten 
how  many  sermons  you  have  preached  to  me  from  that 
book  ?  " 

"  I  recall  some  of  them  certainly,"  said  she  smiling  as 
she  handed  him  the  volume.  Turning  over  the  leaves 
he  read, — 


148  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

"  Necessity  urges  me  on  ;  time  will  not  stop,  neither 
can  he,  a  son  of  time ;  wild  passions  without  solace- 
ment,  wild  faculties  without  employment  ever  vex  and 
agitate  him.  He,  too,  must  enact  that  stern  mono- 
drama,  No  Oi'JECT  AND  NO  REST;  must  front  its  suc- 
cessive destinies,  work  through  to  its  catastrophe,  and 
deduce  therefrom  what  moral  he  can." 

And  adding  no  comment,  he  closed  the  book. 

His  tone,  his  manner,  the  words  he  read,  —  all  pro- 
duced a  sad  impression.  But  struggling  against  it,  she 
replied  with  earnestness,  — 

"  I  should  like  to  continue  my  sermons,  and  through 
this  same  Carlyle.  May  I  ?  " 

"  Most  assuredly." 

"  Listen  then.  '  Be  no  longer  a  chaos.  Produce  ! 
Were  it  but  the  pitifullest,  infinitesimal  fraction  of  a 
product,  produce  it  in  God's  name.  Whatsoever  thy 
hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might. 

'  Speak  forth  what  is  in  thee  ;  what  God  has  given 
thee ;  what  the  devil  shall  not  take  away.' 

"Ah!  Mr.  Vinton,  you  see  he  allows  no  plea  for  in- 
dolence." 

"  But  to  what  end  this  mighty  effort  ?  You  surely 
would  not  have  me  worship  at  the  shrine  of  ambition." 

"  Popular  applause  is  poor  recompense  for  toil  and 
self-sacrifice.  But  there  are  objects  worthy  of  the  no- 
blest ambition." 

"  As  —  for  instance  ?  "  asked  he  in  an  incredulous 
tone. 

"  Is  it  not  noble  to  minister  good  to  our  fellow-be- 
ings ?  " 

"  But  it  is  an  ungrateful  race ;  and  he  who  expends  his 
best  energies  for  the  benefit  of  man,  will  very  likely  re- 
ceive maledictions  as  his  only  recompense." 


OK,    HIGHKIi   THAN    HAPPINESS.  149 

"  You  know  'The  disciple  is  not  above  his  master, 
nor  the  servant  above  his  Lord.'  " 

After  a  long  pause,  he  replied, — 

"  But  a  motive,  Miss  Graham ;  a  motive  that  will 
reach  the  heart !  If  you  summon  me  to  labor,  you 
should  supply  an  adequate  motive  power." 

"  The  consciousness  of  doing  good " 

"  My  cold  nature  does  .not  respond  to  that,"  said  he, 
interrupting  her.  "  I  need  something  that  is  potent  to 
rouse  me  from  my  apathy,  to  furnish  a  new  spring  for 
thought  and  action;  something  that  will  bear  me  on- 
ward against  the  obstacles  of  long  cherished  habit:-  ; 
against  —  a  multitude  of  opposing  forces." 

It  was  in  Marion's  heart  to  reply,  "  The  love  of  God 
will  do  all  this,"  but  her  tongue  faltered.  After  a  pause, 
in  a  voice  of  deep  but  suppressed  emotion,  he  contin- 
ued,— 

"  Should  I  ever  become  so  wonderfully  heroic,  shall 
I  have  your  respect,  —  your  confidence ?" 

"  Miss  Marion,  will  you  step  into  the  kitchen  a  min- 
ute ?" 

The  thread  so  suddenly  snapped  asunder,  was  never 
again  joined. 


150  MARION  GRAHAM; 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


'  Had  we  never  loved  so  kindly, 
Had  we  never  loved  so  blindly, 
Never  met,  or  never  parted, 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted." 


IT  was  a  bright  September  evening.  The  sun  was 
slowly  sinking  as  if  to  bathe  himself  in  the  Shawmut, 
whose  glowing  bosom  was  tremulous  at  receiving  him. 
The  perfumed  air  was  quivering  in  the  rich  light  re- 
flected from  his  glittering  tent,  with  its  hangings  of 
crimson  and  purple,  while  a  soft  golden  haze  gently 
floated  over  the  wide  landscape.  Upon  rustic  seats,  on 
a  little  mound  in  the  rear  of  Judge  Graham's  dwelling, 
sat  Maurice  and  Marion  gazing  dreamily  upon  the 
scene.  The  weeping  willow,  against  whose  trunk  the 
seats  had  been  fashioned,  drooped  gracefully  above 
them,  while  every  bough  and  leaf  was  bathed  in  the 
resplendence  of  departing  day.  Beside  them  idly  lay 
their  books,  for  their  vision  was  now  centred  on  the 
glorious  pages  of  Nature. 

"  This  is  an  enchanting  world,  after  all,"  exclaimed 
Marion,  as  if  speaking  to  herself. 

A  sad  smile  flitted  over  Maurice's  face  as  he  echoed,  — 

44 '  After  all ! '  So  you  too  sometimes  have  doubts  as 
to  the  fact." 

"And  do  you  not  then  agree  with  me  ?  " 


OB,    HIUHKK   THAN    HAPPINESS.  jgj 

u  Fully,  Miss  Graham,  in  your  sometimes-doubts." 

"  But  it  is  only  on  account  of  the  evils  of  my  own 
heart,  that  the  glory  of  the  external  world  is  obscured." 

As  she  spoke,  she  noticed  a  gray  squirrel  looking 
down  upon  them  from  the  branch  of  a  maple  ;  and  turn- 
ing to  point  it  out  to  her  companion,  she  met  his  eyes 
gazing  upon  her  with  such  unutterable  affection,  that 
her  own  dropped  in  an  instant,  while  the  rich  blood  suf- 
fused her  face.  Yet  mingled  with  that  look  of  love  was 
an  expression  of  such  peculiar  sadness,  that  a  chilling 
shadow  crept  over  her  warm  sunlight. 

At  length,  continuing  the  conversation,  he  asked,  — 

"  Are  you  never  painfully  impressed  with  the  fact 
that  in  this  same  '  enchanting  world'  there  is  such  a 
mournful  preponderance  of  misery  over  happiness  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  assent  to  that.  I  know  indeed  that  the 
trail  of  the  serpent  has  swept  over  this  lovely  creation. 
But  I  can  confide  in  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  our 
great  Father,  and  believe  that  in  the  end  he  will  bring 
good  out  of  the  fearful  evil." 

"  Can  you  always  thus  confide  in  him  ?  "  said  he,  gaz- 
ing at  her  earnestly,  while  a  strange  light  kindled  in  his 
dark  eye.  "And  do  you  so  confide  in  him  as  to  believe 
that  of  a  bramble  bush  he  will  gather  grapes  ?  " 

Marion  felt  that  there  was  more  in  this  question  than 
met  the  ear,  and  with  evident  pain  she  replied,  — 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Vinton." 

"  Pardon  me  for  paining  you,  but  it  was  inevitable." 
After  a  moment's  pause,  with  increasing  impetuosity, 
he  continued,  — 

"  My  head  is  dizzy  and  my  heart  faint  from  ceaseless 
tossings  on  the  tumultuous  sea  of  passion.  I  can  no 
longer  endure  uncertainty.  I  must  know  rny  fate,  J 


152  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

must  know  whether  I  may  cast  my  moorings  into  the 
longed-for  haven,  and  yield  myself  to  the  intoxication  of 
bliss  ;  or  whether  I  am  destined  to  float  out  further  and 
further  on  the  open  sea —  a  worthless,  a  rejected  weed. 
But,tempted  to  deceive  you  as  I  have  been  almost  be- 
yond measure,  I  cannot  deliberately  do  it.  Never  have 
I  opened  my  heart  to  any  human  being.  Yet  I  am 
driven  to  lay  it  bare  before  you. 

"  Miss  Graham,  7  have  no  faith  in  the  divine  Being1 
whom  you  adore.  I  can  see  neither  wisdom  nor  good- 
ness in  his  government ;  nay,  more,  if  there  is  a  God,  I 
cannot  escape  the  conviction  that  he  administers  the 
affairs  of  this  world  with  careless,  if  not  with  ruthless 
hands. 

"  This  avowal  may  lead  you  to  withdraw  your  friend- 
ship. If  so,"  said  he  proudly,  while  his  quivering  lips 
belied  his  words,  "  I  submit.  I  will  not  be  indebted  to 
concealment  for  the  most  precious  boon  life  could  ever 
vouchsafe  me." 

The  evident  sincerity  of  his  manner  left  Marion  no 
room  for  doubt.  But  she  could  not  reply.  Her  words 
died  away  before  they  reached  utterance.  As  Mr.  Vin- 
ton  glanced  upon  her  face,  wholly  forsaken  by  the  rich 
color  with  which  it  had  just  glowed,  he  reproached  him- 
self for  the  shock  he  had  given  her.  And  when,  after 
vain  efforts  to  control  her  feelings,  she  buried  her  face 
n  her  hands  and  wept,  he  exclaimed,  — 

"  I  have  often  cursed  the  day  of  my  birth.  But  now 
I  do  it  with  tenfold  bitterness,  for  I  have  brought  sor- 
row on  one  for  whom  I  would  gladly  lay  down  my  life." 

"  Forbear,  Mr.  Vinton,  I  entreat ;  I  cannot  talk  with 
you  now,"  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

He  wrung  it  as  if  it  were  a  final  parting. 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  "  153 

And  Marion  was  alone.  What  an  oppressive  gloom 
had,  within  a  brief  moment,  fallen  darkly  around  her ! 
Until  the  closing  day  had  darkened  into  twilight,  and 
the  twilight  into  deep  night,  she  sat  there,  with  the  dew 
of  sorrow  in  her  eyes,  and  desolation  within  her  heart. 
And  during  that  long,  long  night,  in  the  stillness  of  her 
chamber,  how  did  she  plead  with  Heaven  for  strength  to 
drinjc  that  bitter  cup  !  Nor,  till  the  gray  light  of  morn- 
ing stole  upon  her,  did  she  cease  her  importunings  in 
behalf  of  him  so  erring,  yet  so  dear. 

Early  in  the  'morning,  a  letter  was  placed  in  her  hands. 
With  trembling  eagerness  she  tore  the  seal,  and,  with 
lightning  glance,  ran  over  the  outpouring  of  Maurice's 
soul. 

"  Never,  Miss  Graham,  was  a  secret,  hoarded  for  years, 
so  unwillingly  confided ;  but  I  had  no  alternative.  It 
was  folly  to  allow  myself  to  come  under  your  spell ;  — 
it  was  madness,  knowing  as  I  did  into  what  a  dizzying 
vortex  I  should  inevitably  be  drawn.  Reason  fore- 
warned me  in  the  beginning,  but  I  would  not  give  heed. 
During  these  many  months,  reason  and  passion  have 
been  in  ceaseless  conflict;  hence  my  variable  moods. 
But  my  soul  was  athirst,  and  how  could  I  dash  aside 
the  cup  which  it  was  so  sweet  to  drink  ?  Reason 
grew  importunate  in  her  upbraidings,  urging  my  total 
dissent  from  you  on  a  subject  that  you  deem  of  vital 
importance.  Passion  alleged  the  futility  of  such  argu- 
ments, and  pleaded  for  indulgence  with  a  force  that  I 
could  not  long  have  resisted.  Driven  to  desperation,  I 
tore  myself  from  your  presence.  Alas !  absence  proved 
worse  than  ineffectual.  I  returned.  I  renewed  the 
maddening  draughts.  I  yielded  to  the  resistless  cur- 


154  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

rent  which  has  swept  me  onward,  —  to  what  issue,  you 
must  decide.  With  the  quickened  vision  of  a  lover,  I 
have  long  studied  your  heart.  And  I  have  often  fancied 
I  could  discover  there  some  response  to  my  own  yearn- 
ings. In  our  recent  interview,  I  read  in  your  eyes  more 
fully  than  ever  before,  the  long  coveted  secret.  Pardon 
my  presumption.  It  were  affectation  to  deny  that  I  know 
you  love  me,  at  least  that  you  did  at  that  moment. 
After  that  unconscious  revelation  which  both  trans- 
ported and  saddened  me,  I  could  not  justify  myself  in 
longer  concealment,  especially  as  you  yourself  had  most 
innocently  prepared  the  way.  Never  shall  I  forget  your 
look  of  anguish  when  the  rash  words  escaped  me.  Yet 
impious  as  they  seemed  to  you,  I  can  only  endorse  them 
as  the  transcript  of  my  inmost  convictions.  I  am  a  de- 
liberate unbeliever.  But  must  I  therefore  lose  the  only 
thing  I  ever  coveted  ?  I  have  fearlessly  told  you  the 
worst.  On  the  score  of  morality  I  will  not  pretend 
that  I  have  any  thing  to  confess.  If  you  have  seen 
aught  good  in  me,  it  is  as  really  there  as  ever.  My  in- 
fidelity did  not  I  trust  spring,  as  often,  from  a  corrupt 
heart,  but  from  a  brooding  mind.  If  it  is  a  melancholy 
philosophy,  it  does  not  at  least  affect  my  life.  Can 
you  not,  then,  trust  yourself  with  me  ?  If  any  thing  in 
the  wide  world  could  make  me  a  believer,  it  would  be 
your  appealing  eyes  when  you  talk  of  God.  But  I  will 
hold  out  no  such  lure.  I  should  be  sorry  to  undermine 
your  faith,  yet  I  have  no  expectation,  much  as  for  your 
dear  sake  I  could  wish  it,  that  I  shall  ever  be  a  Chris- 
tian. If  you  accept  me  as  your  dearest  friend,  it  must 
be  as  I  am.  But  cannot  you  do  this  ? 

Marion,   you   know  nothing  of  the  intensity  of  the 
passion  you  have  awakened.     It  has  grown  with  my 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  155 

growth.     I  made  no  advances;  I  sought  no   return. 
Yet  unobservant  as  I  seemed,  I  have  detected  myself 
watching  for  some  slight  token  of  interest.     Yester- 
day I   could   no  longer   doubt.     I    am  vain    enough 
to    believe   that  your  love  for  me    has  struck  down 
deep,  and  taken  firm  hold  of  the  foundations  of  your 
being ;  —  that  if  you  will  only  yield  me  the  right,  I  can 
win  from  you  what  will  satisfy  even  my  wild  crav- 
ings.    I  dare  assert  that  every  pulse  in  your  heart  is  at 
this  moment  pleading  my  cause.     I  entreat  you,  do  not 
sacrifice  me,  do  not  sacrifice  yourself,  to  a  mistaken  sense 
of  duty.     I   claim  you   as    my   own.     I  cannot  resign 
you.     And  it  shall  be  a  charming  world  to  me  too,  with 
your  love  to  gild  every  object.     The  waters  so  long 
dammed  up  have  now  forced  a  channel,  and  they  rush 
through  it  with  uncontrollable  impetuosity. 

I  can  suffer,  1  can  be,  any  thing  in  the  wide  world 
for  your  sake  ;  any  thing  but — a  disciple  of  the  (Tali- 
lean.  In  him  I  am  unable  to  believe.  But  will  you 
therefore  spurn  the  illimitable  wealth  of  an  honest 
heart?  You  are  above  the  weakness  of  prejudice.  I 
conjure  you  then  to  be  true  to  yourself. 

I  am  worn  with  excitement,  and  cannot  long  bear 
suspense.  From  your  own  lips  this  evening  I  will  learn 
my  fate. 

MAURICE  VINTON." 

Never  had  Marion  known  wretchedness  like  that  oc- 
casioned by  this  outburst  of  feeling.  The  intensity  of 
Mr.  Vinton's  emotions,  all  concentrated  on  herself;  his 
lofty  intellect,  his  sensibility,  his  manliness,  his  refine- 
ment, and  other  blended  traits  realized  her  girlhood's 
ideal.  But  he  lacked  the  pearl  of  great  price,  and  with' 


156  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

out  this,  of  what  value  to  her  could  be  all  else  ?  A  glo- 
rious setting,  but  no  enshrined  gem !  Yet  must  she 
refuse  that  for  which  she  had  so  yearned  ?  Must  she 
give  him  up  as  an  outcast  forever  ?  Might  he  not  be 
won  to  her  faith  by  his  love  for  her  ? 

Kneeling,  she  poured  out  the  anguish  of  her  heart, 
but  hardly  dared  to  pray  for  light,  lest  it  should  lead  her 
into  misery.  Then  she  opened  her  Bible,  and  read  of 
those  who  stand  "  before  the  throne,  and  before  the 
Lamb,  clothed  with  white  robes,  and  palms  in  their 
hands."  And  when  she  came  to  the  answer  of  the 
elder,  "  These  are  they  which  came  out  of  great  tribula- 
tion, and  have  washed  their  robes  and  made  them  white 
in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb,"  she  clasped  her  hands,  pray- 
ing,— 

"  If  a  life  of  sorrow  is  necessary  to  fit  me  for  the  con- 
flict with  sin,  strengthen  me  to  endure  it,  O  Lord !  Let 
me  but  grow  in  holiness,  and  thus  be  prepared  for 
heaven,  and  I  will  give  up  every  dream  of  earthly  bliss." 
Then  she  thought  sorrowfully,  "Alas  !  I  dare  not  pledge 
myself  to  an  unbeliever.  I  must  still  these  wild  yearn- 
ings, and  prepare  Maurice  for  my  resolve." 

"Writing  over  a  page,  she  tore  it ;  and  so  she  continued 
to  write,  tearing  as  fast  as  she  wrote,  until,  feeling  that 
the  attempt  to  suit  herself  was  useless,  she  sent  the  fol- 
lowing, — 

"  Come,  if  you  think  best,  but  not  to  claim  me.  I 
have  consecrated  myself  to  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth  whom 
you  reject.  You  must  not  urge  me  to  what  would 
be  a  denial  of  my  faith.  I  dare  not  trust  myself  in  your 
hands.  Your  influence  over  me  is  already  too  great. 
Alas !  you  have  read  me  truly.  Love  has  struck  deep, 


OU,    HIrtHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  i;>7 

and  every  fibre  of  my  heart  protests  against  a  determi- 
nation more  cruel  to  me  than  to  you,  for  I  am  a  woman. 
But  is  it  true,  then,  that  you  can  see  no  beauty  in 
Christ  ?  Can  nothing  win  you  to  him  ?  On  my  knees, 
I  entreat  you  to  study  the  Scriptures  with  prayer.  Lay 
aside  every  thing  else.  Banish  me  from  your  thoughts, 
and  sit  at  his  feet  who  alone  can  give  you  wisdom. 

In  tears, 

MARION  GRAHAM." 

As  Marion's  father  was  out  of  town,  she  was  relieved 
from  appearing  at  the  tea-table.  On  a  lounge  in  her 
boudoir  she  sat,  her  head  bowed  like  a  broken  flower. 
How  often  she  listened  for  his  coming !  And  is  he  to 
come  this  once,  and  then  no  more  forever  ?  She  hears 
a  step,  the  door  is  softly  opened,  and  Maurice  is  kneel- 
ing at  her  feet. 

"  Marion ! " 

So  tenderly  was  that  name  breathed,  that  a  tremor 
shook  her  frame.  She  dared  not  trust  herself  to  look 
into  his  eyes.  Clasping  her  cold  hand  in  his,  he  mur- 
mured, — 

"  Never,  till  your  own  lips  utter  that  you  do  not  love 
me,  will  I  resign  you." 

A  sleepless  night  and  her  protracted  struggles  had 
almost  exhausted  her.  Her  purpose  remained  good,  but 
the  power  of  resistance  was  fast  ebbing  away.  At 
length  she  lifted  her  face.  Its  pale  and  suffering  look 
made  such  an  irresistible  appeal,  that,  seating  himself 
beside  her  and  warmly  pressing  her  hand  within  his 
own,  in  a  burning  torrent  of  words  he  poured  out  his 
soul. 

"  It  is  needless  cruelty,  dear  Marion,  for  you  to  think 


158  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

of  sacrificing  us  both  to  a  mere  prejudice.  I  certainly 
am  not  the  monster  that  such  a  denial  of  your  own  in- 
clinations would  imply.  By  every  thing  that  is  sacred 
in  your  eyes,  your  happiness  shall  be  dearer  to  me  than 
life.  And  you  shall  never  be  pained  by  the  utterance 
of  my  sentiments.  You  tremble.  Your  whole  being  is 
agitated  with  the  contest.  Our  hearts  have  irrepressible 
mutual  yearnings.  The  strong  current  will  not  set  back 
at  your  bidding.  These  divided  waters  of  affection 
must  inevitably  flow  together.  Say  only  one  word. 
Will  you  not  trust  the  unerring  instincts  of  your  heart, 
and  open  its  flood-gates  to  the  bliss  which  is  pleading 
outside,  like  an  importuning  beggar  ?  " 

Is  it  strange  that  his  thrilling  tone,  that  his  sweet 
wooing,  should  lull  the  conflicting  voices  in  her  soul?  — 
Is  it  strange  that,  worn  with  her  struggle,  and  long- 
ing to  drink  of  the  sparkling  cup  held  to  her  lips, — 
she  should  lift  her  drooping  lids,  and  suffer  her  impetu- 
ous lover  to  read  in  her  truthful  eyes,  "  /  will  ?  " 

In  the  sudden,  ecstatic  outgushing  of  heart  to  heart 
that  followed,  words  were  not  needed.  For  two  hours, 
every  moment  of  which  was  laden  with  an  untold 
weight  of  bliss,  Marion  gave  herself  up  to  the  delirious 
dream  of  love. 

For  every  such  moment,  in  the  long  hours  of  that  sol- 
emn night,  she  paid  the  bitter  penalty  of  a  double  weight 
of  remorse  and  misery.  AVas  her  Lord  never  to  be 
named  between  them  ?  Had  she  pledged  herself  to  a 
rejector  of  her  dear  Redeemer?  —  and  could  she  pray 
for  a  blessing  on  their  union  ?  Had  she  given  her  soul 
into  the  keeping  of  one  who  would  have  no  cheering 
word  to  whisper  to  her  in  the  deep  waters  of  affliction, 
or  on  the  bosom  of  death  ?  Her  conscience  was  stern 


OR,    HUiliKK   THAN    HAPPINESS.  159 

in  its  upbraidings,  while  a  voice  in  her  heart  whis- 
pered,— 

"And  wilt  thou  also  go  away?  " 

It  was  a  long  and  sharp  conflict,  but  she  rose  from  it 
—  a  victor.  She  felt  that  her  only  safety  was  in  follow- 
ing duty.  She  "could  do  without  happiness,  and,"  per- 
haps, "instead  thereof,  find  blessedness."  The  recollec- 
tion of  the  time,  when  together  they  had  read  these 
words,  sent  a  pang  to  her  heart;  yet  through  her  tears 
she  looked  up  to  heaven. 

Awaking  after  but  an  hour's  slumber,  she  set  herself 
to  her  task.  It  was  hard  to  undo  what  had  been  so 
sweet  in  the  doing;  —  to  untwine  the  arms  which  had 
wound  so  protectingly  around  her,  and  go  on  her  way 
alone.  It  was  hard,  —  but  she  did  not  hesitate. 

"  ME.  VINTON, —  I  need  say  nothing  of  love,  for  you 
have  sounded  some  of  its  depths.  But,  by  a  voice  which 
I  cannot  silence,  I  am  impelled  to  speak  once  more  of 
duty.  I  have  been  very  weak,  and  done  a  great  wrong. 
Yet  I  trust  I  am  forgiven.  You  must  allow  me  to  with- 
draw from  our  tacit  contract,  and,  with  the  utmost  kind- 
ness, to  assure  you  that  henceforth  we  can  be  to  each 
other  only  as  ordinary  friends. 

MARION." 

Having  sent  her  letter,  she  tried  to  compose  herself  for 
the  interview  which  she  knew  must  shortly  ensue.  As 
the  evening  shadows  began  to  lengthen,  her  trial  came. 
Mr.  Vinton  saw  in  a  moment  that  he  had  lost  his  van- 
tage ground.  Yet  he  spared  neither  argument  nor 
eloquence  to  dissuade  her  from  her  resolve.  But  she 
was  safe  under  the  covenant  wings,  and  he  could  not 


\  fiO  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

reach  her.  As  the  conviction  that  his  plea  was  hopeless 
fastened  itself  upon  him,  his  countenance  assumed  such 
a  settled  melancholy,  that  she  could  scarcely  control  her 
emotions. 

"  Marion ! "  how  his  unnatural  voice  startled  her  ! 
"  in  two  days,  I  shall  sail  for  Europe.  Farewell !  " 

But  in  saying  this  he  made  no  motion  towards  her. 

"  Do  you  leave  me  in  displeasure  ?  "  asked  she,  fixing 
her  swimming  eyes  upon  him,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
extending  her  hand. 

"  You  have  killed  me,  Marion,  but  I  forgive  your  cruel 
mistake."  Then,  clasping  her  hand  in  both  his,  he  once 
more  pronounced 

"  That  word,  that  fatal  word,  in  which,  howe'er 
We  promise,  hope,  believe,  there  breathes  despair." 

It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  Marion  had 
retained  her  self-command  throughout  this  trying  inter- 
view. As  she  stood  within  the  heavy  folds  of  the  cur- 
tain and  watched  his  retreating  form,  there  was  a 
sudden  reaction.  Maurice  seemed  to  her  to  embody 
every  thing  that  was  noble ;  and  he  surely  must  have 
belied  himself.  At  any  rate,  he  certainly  could  be  won 
to  the  truth.  And  who  had  required  her  to  interpose 
such  barriers  in  his  path  ?  There  was  yet  time  to  re- 
voke the  sentence ;  and  oh !  how  sweet  it  would  be  to 
rest  her  aching  head  on  that  true  heart !  She  stepped 
out  into  the  quiet  night.  He  was  not  yet  beyond  her 
reach.  Tremblingly  she  essayed  to  call  Ms  name,  but 
her  voice  died  out  in  silence.  She  watched  for  the  last 
glimpse,  and  then  retired  to  her  own  chamber. 

She  had  been  reading  Lalla  Rookh;   and  the  book 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  161 

lay  open  where,  two  days  before,  she  had  left  it  Her 
eye  was  arrested  by  Hinda's  prayer  for  Hafed,  and, 
with  deep  emotion,  she  perused  the  closing  lines. 

"  Think,  think  what  victory  to  win 
One  radiant  soul  like  his  from  sin, 
One  wandering  star  of  virtue  back 
To  its  own  native  heavenward  track. 
Let  him  but  live,  and  both  are  thine, 
Together  thine,  —  for,  blest  or  curst, 
Living  or  dead,  his  doom  is  mine, 
And  if  he  perish,  both  are  lost." 

Abruptly  shutting  the  book,  she  struggled  against  the 
fierce  temptation  which  this  passionate  plea  had  sug- 
gested. She  removed  to  the  window,  and  gazed  at  the 
stars  shining  tranquilly  down  through  heaven's  serene 
depths.  She  wondered  if  they  ever  looked  upon  suffer- 
ing so  keen  as  hers.  Then  a  voice  from  those  infinite 
depths  came  floating  through  the  air. 

"  He  hath  trodden  the  wine-press  alone,  and  of  the 
people,  there  was  none  with  him." 

"  Dear  Saviour,"  she  exclaimed,  "  why  should  I  shrink 
from  following  in  the  dreary  path  which  thy  footsteps 
trod ;  from  wearing  the  thorns  which  pressed  thy  bleed- 
ing temples  ?  Only  let  me  cling  to  thee ;  only  pity 
my  weakness,  and  suffer  me  not  to  be  tempted  above 
what  I  am  able  to  bear." 

The  morning  came  as  it  always  comes,  be  the  dread 
night  never  so  long.  As  Marion  looked  out  upon  the 
leaden  sky,  a  cold  whisper  seemed  to  steal  upon  her, 
"  Farewell,  happiness !  Come,  stern  duty !  "  And  qui- 
etly, but  with  a  face  changed  as  if  years  had  passed 
over  it,  she  entered  upon  her  usual  routine.  She  had  laid 


162  MARION  GRAHAM; 

happiness  on  the  altar,  but  would  she  reach  the  higher 
good? 

And  Maurice,  without  heavenly  support !  —  how, 
alas !  could  he  endure  the  burden  laid  upon  him  ?  As 
he  walked  rapidly  down  the  street, 

"•  Over  him  rushed,  like  a  wind  that  is  keen  and  cold  and  relentless, 
Thoughts  of  what  might  have  been,  and  the  weight  and  woe  of  hi* 

errand  ; 

All  the  dreams  that  had  faded,  and  all  the  hopes  that  had  vanished, 
All  his  life  henceforth  a  dreary  and  tenantless  mansion, 
Haunted  by  vain  regrets,  and  pallid,  sorrowful  faces." 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"0  Father!  draw  to  thee 
My  lost  affections  back !  —  the  dreaming  eyes 
Clear  from  their  mist  — sustain  the  heart  that  dies, 
Give  the  warm  soul  once  more  its  pinions  free." 

IT  was  one  of  those  lovely  days  which  autumn 
has  in  her  gift.  A  dreamy  haze  hung  like  a  curtain 
over  the  sky,  and  in  the  dim  distance  lay  the  sleeping 
hills,  like  purple  islands  of  the  sea.  Through  the  softly- 
tinted  drapery  of  the  trees,  the  rich  light  fell  in  gentle 
wavelets  upon  Marion's  book,  as  she  sat  beneath  their 
spreading  branches.  But  what  was  the  sweet  sunshine, 
or  the  varied  beauty  of  the  landscape,  to  her  withered 
heart? 

It  was  a  week  after  the  departure  of  Maurice,  but  in 
the  calendar  of  sorrow,  months  had  swept  by  since  their 
last  interview.  She  had  not,  from  that  first  hour  of  temp- 
tation, swerved  from  her  high  resolve.  Yet  the  passing 
through  that  season  of  terrible  trial  had  taxed  her  pow- 
ers to  the  utmost.  When  the  intense  excitement  had 
subsided,  there  came  a  fearful  reaction  almost  paralyz- 
ing in  its  influence.  Her  father  had  not  yet  returned; 
and  she  was  thus  left  to  entire  solitude,  that  worst  pre- 
scription for  the  sorrowing.  The  severe  tension  of  her 
nerves  was  relaxed,  and  day  after  day  she  sat  brooding 
over  her  griefs,  while  the  hot,  unshed  tears  lay  burning 
in  her  heart. 


in  j 


11)4  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

The  delicious  languor  of  this  autumnal  day  had 
somewhat  softened  her  gloom,  and  for  the  first  time 
during  the  week  she  had  been  reading.  The  book  in 
her  hand  was  the  translation  of  Schiller's  "  Wallen- 
stein,"  a  drama  associated  with  some  of  the  brightest 
moments  of  her  life.  In  a  half  audible  tone  she  read 
Thekla's  song. 

"  The  cloud  doth  gather,  the  greenwood  roar, 
The  damsel  paces  along  the  shore ; 
The  billows  they  tumble  with  might,  with  might ; 
And  she  flings  out  her  voice  to  the  darksome  night ; 

Her  bosom  is  swelling  with  sorrow ; 
The  world  it  is  empty,  the  heart  will  die, 
There's  nothing  to  wish  for  beneath  the  sky ; 
Thou  Holy  One,  call  thy  child  away ! 
I've  lived  and  loved,  and  that  was  to-day — 

Make  ready  my  grave  clothes  to-morrow." 

These  pathetic  words  dissolved  the  cloud,  and  she 
wept,  not  passionate,  but  gentle  drops  of  grief. 

Suddenly  a  footstep  was  heard,  and  her  father  stood 
before  her.  Marion  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  throwing 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  sobbed  out,  — 

"  Love  me,  dear  father!  " 

Gently  releasing  her,  he  looked  into  her  wan,  tearful 
face.  Then,  with  a  tenderness  and  warmth  which  had 
never  before  found  expression,  he  kissed  her  forehead, 
and,  pressing  her  to  his  heart,  softly  inquired,  — 

"  How,  then,  did  you  learn  the  sad  tidings  ?  " 

With  her  thoughts  centred  in  one  object,  Marion 
looked  into  his  face,  crying  out  in  the  most  agonizing 
tones,  — 

"Dead!  —  is  he  dead?" 

In  nowise  comprehending  her  question,  Judge  Gra- 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  165 

ham  began  to  fear  that  her  reason  had  given  way,  but 
simply  replying,  — 

"  No,  my  daughter,"  he  led  her  into  the  house.  Go- 
ing into  the  library,  he  placed  her  on  the  sofa,  and  seated 
himself  beside  her.  She  gazed  at  the  placid  face  of  her 
mother,  looking  down  upon  them  from  the  wall,  and 
exclaiming,  — 

"Oh  that  my  mother  were  here ! "  she  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands. 

Her  father  drew  her  closer  to  himself. 

"  I  did  not  think  this  calamity  would  affect  you  so 
much,  Marion.  Your  father  is  still  left  to  you." 

"  Teh1  me  all,  dear  father.  I  can  bear  it  now,"  said 
she,  shuddering  with  the  certainty  that  it  related  to 
Maurice. 

"  But  you  have  heard  something  ?  "  said  he,  being 
confirmed  in  his  conclusion  that  the  news  had  already 
reached  her. 

"  Nothing,  nothing ;  do  not  keep  me  longer  in  sus- 
pense." 

In  the  gentlest  tones,  he  replied,  — 

"  My  child,  I  have  been  unfortunate  in  my  business 
connections,  and  my  wealth  is  suddenly  stripped  from 
me." 

In  a  fervent  tone  she  uttered,  — 

"  Thank  God  it  is  nothing  worse." 

If  her  father  had  been  surprised  that  she  was  so  deeply 
affected)  as  he  supposed,  by  the  tidings  of  his  reverses, 
he  was  still  more  so  by  her  actual  reception  of  them. 

"  But  do  you  realize  that  you  must  leave  your  pleas- 
ant home,  and  give  up  many  of  those  comforts  to  which 
you  have  always  been  accustomed  ?  "  inquired  he,  look- 
ing at  her  searchingly. 


166  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

"  With  your  love,  dear  father,  I  can  welcome  pov- 
erty." 

"  Dear  Marion,  you  must  have  tasted  some  bitter  sor- 
row, or  you  could  not  be  so  insensible  to  this  severe 
trial.  I  have  been  too  reserved  with  you,  and  have  riot 
known  how  to  win  your  confidence.  But  will  you  not 
open  your  heart  to  your  father  ?  " 

"  If  I  can,"  she  replied,  yet  hesitating  how  to  do  it. 

"  Does  it  concern  our  friend,  Mr.  Vinton?  " 

This  question  occasioned  a  fresh  burst  of  grief,  but 
soon  controlling  herself,  with  frequent  interruptions,  she 
told  him  her  story.  He  listened  with  anxious  interest, 
and  when  she  had  finished,  said  to  her  in  a  broken 
voice,  — 

"  You  are  the  true  child  of  your  mother.  You  have 
done  nobly.  May  God  sustain  and  comfort  you,  my 
poor  Marion ! " 

Such  words  from  him  conveyed  unspeakable  conso- 
lation, and  she  looked  her  thanks  through  her  tears.  It 
was  a  touching  scene,  —  that  sorrowing  daughter  with 
her  young  head  pillowed  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  on  the 
bosom  of  her  father,  his  silvered  locks,  as  he  bent  over 
her,  mingling  with  her  rich  tresses.  The  ice  between 
them  had  been  suddenly  broken  up,  and  Marion  felt  that 
she  still  had  something  to  live  for. 

When  they  separated  that  night,  it  was  \-fith  a  feel- 
ing of  relief  on  the  part  of  each.  It  was  late  before 
Marion  fell  asleep,  -yet  her  thoughts  were  not  of  herself, 
but  of  her  father's  trials,  so  hard  to  be  borne  at  his  age. 
For  his  sake  she  would  suppress  her  grief,  and  do  her 
best  to  scatter  sunshine  over  his  declining  years.  The 
air  of  chastened  cheerfulness  which  she  wore  in  the 
morning,  greatly  moved  her  father,  who  had  made  the 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPJNKSS.  167 

same  effort  on  her  account.  In  their  mutual  affection 
and  sympathy,  it  would  be  difficult  to  tell  which  showed 
the  most  consideration  for  the  other.  He  had  always 
treated  her  with  great  kindness,  but  his  manner  was 
now  marked  by  a  tender  reverence,  and  a  delicate, 
almost  a  lover's  fondness,  which  she  repaid  with  the 
warmest  filial  devotion. 

It  was  delightful  to  see  them  as  they  walked  together 
over  the  old  grounds,  while  he  told  her  of  his  early  life, 
and  of  her  young  mother  who  faded  in  the  morning  of 
her  days.  He  also  gave  her  information  as  to  his  busi- 
ness matters,  telling  her  that  he  saw  no  way  but  to  sell 
his  house  and  lands,  and,  with  the  income  which  these 
sales  would  furnish,  to  retire  to  a  cottage  which  he 
owned  about  half  a  mile  distant.  To  every  word  which 
fell  from  his  lips  concerning  himself  and  her  mother, 
Marion  listened  with  the  deepest  interest,  entering 
warmly  into  all  his  plans  for  the  future,  and  striving  by 
her  playfulness  to  lighten  his  burdens.  Owing  to  his 
sudden  and  great  losses,  he  had  separated  from  his  busi- 
ness partner,  and  was  obliged  to  spend  much  time  in 
arranging  affairs. 

One  day  he  called  together  the  servants  of  the  house- 
hold, and  having  informed  them  frankly  of  the  change 
in  his  circumstances,  he  told  them  that  in  a  week  they 
would  be  at  liberty  to  seek  other  places.  Polly,  the  old 
housekeeper,  lingered  after  the  others  had  withdrawn, 
and  coming  up  to  Mr.  Graham,  she  dropped  a  curtsy, 
saying,  — 

"  I  beg  pardon,  yer  honor,  but  my  mind  is  sot  never 
to  leave  you." 

"  But  I  can  no  longer  afford  to  pay  you  as  you  de- 
serve. We  must  get  an  ordinary  servant  on  low  wages." 


1(38  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  What  odds  is  the  wages  to  me  ?  "  said  she,  wiping 
her  eyes.  "  Haven't  I  good  $1200,  what  all  came  from 
yer  honor,  stored  up  in  the  bank  ?  " 

•'But,  Polly " 

"  Yer  honor  musn't  bid  me  leave  you,  for  I  g'in  my 
word  to  yer  blessed  lady  on  her  dying  bed,  that  I  would 
bide  wid  ye  while  yer  lived.  And  what  can  you  say 
agin  it,  when  I've  got  more  than  enough  to  last  me,  and 
to  bury  me  decently  when  I'm  dead  and  gone  ?  " 

"  You  shall  have  your  own  way,  my  faithful  Polly," 
said  Judge  Graham  with  emotion,  warmly  grasping  her 
hand. 

As  the  evenings  were  chilly,  a  fire  was  kindled  on 
the  library  hearth,  for  there  Marion  knew  her  father 
would  prefer  to  sit.  Lighting  the  wax  candles  upon 
the  mantel-piece,  and  dropping  the  heavy  damask  cur- 
tains, she  wheeled  his  arm-chair  into  the  comer,  with  a 
low  seat  for  herself  beside  it. 

That  was  a  season  of  freer  communion  than  they  had 
yet  enjoyed,  —  a  season  that  would  never  be  forgotten. 
He  talked  of  his  love  for  her  angel-mother,  of  her  dying 
moments,  and  of  his  subsequent  grief  and  seclusion. 
Then  with  a  skilful  hand  he  gently  probed  her  wounds, 
that  he  might  be  sure  there  was  nothing  that  would 
secretly  rankle.  He  could  see  that  she  felt  this  in  every 
fibre  of  her  being,  yet  she  bore  it  bravely,  notwjthstand- 
ing. 

"  This  has  been  a  charming  evening,"  said  he  at  its 
close,  "  though  I  have  neglected  to  speak  of  some  busi- 
ness matters  that  were  on  my  mind.  To-morrow,  how- 
ever, I  shah1  try  to  initiate  you.  In  the  mean  time,  be 
assured  that,  in  spite  of  my  reserve  which  I  now  see 
has  placed  barriers  between  us.  you  have  always  been 
u  sjreat  comfort  to  me." 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  169 

Before  they  separated,  he  prayed  with  her.  And 
what  intercedings  were  those  that  fell  from  his  lips  — 
intercedings  which  never  died  out  of  Marion's  heart  ! 
The  good-night  parting  that  followed  was  peculiarly 
Tender,  Mr.  Graham  calling  her  a  second  time  to  fold 
her  in  his  arms,  while  Marion  looked  up  in  his  face 
with  the  most  grateful  affection.  And  yet  again  she 
returned  to  ask  forgiveness  for  not  having  been  a  more 
considerate  and  dutiful  daughter. 

"  No  father  could  desire  a  better  daughter.  But  for- 
give me,  dear  Marion,  that  I  have  not  given  you  more 
of  a  father's  sympathy." 

"  How  ungrateful  I  was,"  mused  Marion,  as  she  sat 
in  her  chamber,  "  to  forget  my  precious  father  in  my 
own  sorrow !  But  I  did  not  know  that  I  could  be  of 
consequence  to  him;  I  never  dreamed  of  the  strength 
of  his  affection.  There  were  many  things  I  wanted  to 
talk  about  to-night ;  but  I  must  try  to  rest  that  I  may 
be  the  better  able  to  minister  to  his  comfort." 

Yes,  Marion !  rest  this  night  if  thou  canst,  rejoicing 
in  the  assurance  of  a  father's  love.  To-morrow, —  who 
knows  what  new  burden  may  be  laid  upon  thee  ? 

She  sought  her  pillow,  but  sleep  had  fled.  Restlessly 
she  tossed,  listening  for  the  clock  to  name  the  laggard 
hours  as  they  trod  tardily  by.  More  than  once  she  was 
strongly  tempted  to  go  to  her  father,  but  she  resisted  the 
1  hought  as  weakness.  Yet  she  felt  chilled  and  oppressed 
as  by  the  falling  of  a  cold  shadow  around  her. 


"  As,  at  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  hoof  on  the  turf  of  the  prairies, 
Far  in  advance  are  closed  the  leaves  of  the  shrinking  Mimosa, 
So,  at  the  hoof-beats  of  fate,  with  sad  forebodings  of  evil, 
Shrinks  and  doses  thr  heart,  on-  (lie  stroke  of  doom  has  attained  it." 


170  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

"  The  room  is  strangely  close,"  said  Marion.  "  I 
must  have  air." 

And  wrapping  herself  in  a  dressing-gown,  she  raised 
a  window  and  sat  down  by  it.  Only  a  few  stars  glit- 
tered on  the  dark  brow  of  night,  and  their  light  was  cold 
and  distant.  The  wind  moaned  dismally  through  the  old 
elms,  and  the  lightning-rod  creaked  gloomily  against 
the  walls  of  the  house.  With  an  indescribable  oppres- 
sion she  gazed  earnestly  into  the  face  of  the  sky,  and 
wondered  if,  after  all,  heaven  was  so  very  far  away. 

"  How  many,"  she  thought,  "  are  this  moment  gliding 
over  the  mysterious  river!  And  how  many,  having 
crossed  it,  are  now  standing  on  those  wildly  longed-for, 
yet  strangely  dreaded  shores,  waiting  for  those  who  are 
to  follow !  But  how  shall  we  know  our  friends  in  the 
spirit-land  ?  Do  they  retain  their  familiar  form  and 
look  ?  And  oh !  'do  they  love  there  still  ? '  But  this 
dreadful  oppression  !  Is  there  a  new  sorrow  in  store  for 
me  ?  Alas !  how  could  I  bear  it  ?  " 

As  this  thought  passed  through  her  mind,  a  quick 
step  resounded  in  the  long  hall.  She  sprang  to  the 
door.  There  stood  Polly,  white  as  a  ghost,  with  a 
light  in  her  hand.  She  needed  no  more,  but  rush- 
ing past  the  old  housekeeper,  she  flew  down  the 
broad,  echoing  stairs  directly  into  the  library,  unheed- 
ing Polly's  repeated  call,  "  Wait,  wait,  Miss  Marion  ;  it 
will  kill  you." 

There  sat  her  dear  father,  now  tenfold  dearer  than 
ever.  A  letter  "  To  my  precious  daughter,"  lay  unfin- 
ished before  him.  The  pen  was  still  in  his  hand,  but 
alas !  it  was  the  rigid  fingers  of  death  that  held  it  there. 
Upon  his  left  hand, his  silvered  head  was  gently  bowed  ; 
and  thus,  without  groan  or  struggle,  he  had  departed 


OK,    HiUHEK   THAN   HAPPINESS.  171 

into  those  unknown  regions  towards  which  Marion's 
thoughts  had  been  so  wistfully  travelling. 

When  Polly  had  summoned  the  other  servants,  and 
again  entered  the  room,  Marion  was  lying  at  her  father's 
feet,  wellnigh  as  pale  and  cold  and  insensible  as  he. 
Of  what  followed,  she  knew  nothing. 


When,  in  the  morning,  the  housekeeper  went  to  her 
chamber,  she  was  not  there.  Going  down  stairs  she 
met  Mrs.  Milman,  who  exclaimed, — 

"I  never  saw  the  like  of  Miss  Graham.  Why,  she's 
been  gathering  flowers." 

"  They're  for  her  father,  I'll  be  bound,  and  it's  just  her 
way." 

Reverently  Marion  entered  the  library,  and,  setting 
down  her  basket,  full  and  fragrant,  carefully  shut  the 
door.  Kneeling  beside  the  couch,  she  threw  back  the 
silken  covering,  which  fell  in  soft  folds  over  that  beloved 
form.  He  was  robed  in  a  suit  which  she  had  often  seen 
upon  him,  and  lay  a  little  on  one  side  as  was  his  wont 
when  he  slept.  The  sweet  sunlight,  chastened  by  the 
crimson  drapery  of  the  room,  softened  the  grim  ghastli- 
ness  of  death,  while  the  serenity  of  heaven  shone  on  his 
placid  countenance.  She  scattered  flowers  around  him, 
and  then,  taking  from  her  bosom  his  unfinished  and 
still  unread  letter,  she  knelt  beside  him  to  peruse  it. 
He  began  it  with  a  tender  gusli  of  affection,  speaking 
warmly  of  the  noble  manner  in  which  she  had  borne 
her  peculiar  and  repeated  trials,  and  of  his  desire  and 
purpose  to  become  more  to  her  as  a  father  than  he  had 
yet  been.  After  thus  pouring  out  his  heart,  he  went  on 
to  say,  — 


172  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

"  I  could  write  all  night  in  this  strain,  but  I  must  not. 
Should  I  be  suddenly  removed,  it  would  be  of  great  im- 
portance that  you  should  clearly  understand  my  busi- 
ness matters.  And  as  we  know  not  what  a  day  may 
bring  forth,  I  wish  to  say  a  few  things  before  I  sleep.  J 
am  thankful  to  be  indebted  to  no  one.  And  from  the 
sales  which  we  have  determined  upon,  a  small  but  suffi- 
cient income  will  be  realized.  The  furniture  of  this 
house,  and  the  cottage,  I  trust  you  may  always  retain. 

There  is  one  thing  I  feel  constrained  to   say,  but 

» 

Here  death  took  the  pen,  and  what  her  father  had 
wished  her  to  know,  must  now  be  buried  with  him 
in  the  grave. 

At  length  night  gently  dropped  her  curtains  over  this 
house  of  mourning,  and  Marion  went  to  her  lonely  room. 
She  tried  to  think  of  the  peace  of  heaven,  but  the  sor- 
rows of  earth  fettered  her  wings.  She  believed  that  she 
had  with  her,  in  her  sore  trials,  a  Father  of  infinite  com- 
passion, yet  she  felt  friendless  and  forsaken.  As  she 
wearily  tossed  on  her  pillow,  sad  images  floated  through 
her  mind  till  at  length,  overpowered,  she  sank  into  a 
heavy  slumber.  In  her  extreme  exhaustion  she  slept 
for  hours,  but  it  was  not  that  repose  which  refreshes. 
And  when  she  awoke,  and  the  sense  of  her  utter  desola- 
tion rushed  upon  her,  she  could  only  cry  out  in  her 
agony  for  the  help  of  heaven. 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  1  7.'{ 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"Yet  the  soul  hath  its  cross  and  its  passion, 

Its  moments  of  uttermost  woe, 
When  the  thought  —  Thou  for  us  hast  suffered, 
Is  all  the  repose  it  can  know." 

THE  solemn  words,  "  Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes, 
dust  to  dust,"  had  been  pronounced.  Leaning  on  the 
arm  of  the  venerable  Mr.  Morton,  Marion  had  heard  the 
clods  fall  upon  the  coffin,  and,  in  the  long,  slow  proces- 
sion, had  walked  back  to  her  solitary  home.  She  en- 
tered her  room  as  one  paralyzed,  and  throwing  aside  her 
mourning  hat  and  veil,  she  read  again  the  dying  letter 
of  her  father,  dwelling  painfully  on  the  last  unfinished 
sentence. 

"  I  must  not  weep,"  said  she  to  herself.  "  I  must  not 
even  think.  It  only  remains  for  me  to  act." 

And,  with  unnatural  calmness,  she  began  making  her 
plans  for  the  future. 

"A  few  days  longer,"  she  thought,  "  I  will  remain  in 
the  home  of  my  childhood,  arranging  matters  of  busi- 
ness, and  gathering  up  reminiscences  to  bear  away. 
And  I  will  strive  to  honor  my  father's  memory." 

At  that  word  — father  —  the  thought  of  her  double 
orphanage  stole  over  her.  A  choking  sensation  broke 
in  upon  her  seeming  quietude,  and,  leaning  her  head 
against  the  window,  the  tide  of  grief  could  no  longer  be 
stayed.  How  did  that  wild  torrent  sweep  before  it  all 


1  74  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

her  deliberate  conclusions,  her  sternest  resolves !  Unable 
to  bear  her  overwhelming  sense  of  desolateness,  she 
stretched  forth  her  hands  imploringly,  while  her  pale 
lips  murmured, — 

"  Maurice  !  Maurice  !  come  back  to  me ! " 

But  no  response!  To  clasp  her  to  his  bosorn,  he 
would  have  sacrificed  all  the  treasures  of  earth.  But 
alas  !  the  wide  sea  rolls  between  them,  and  in  sad  fancy 
she  hears  its  billows  break  upon  the  shore,  forever  shriek- 
ing that  despairing  word,  "  Nevermore  !  nevermore !  " 

Woe  for  the  human  heart,  were  there  no  rests  written 
for  its  long  wail  of  agony  !  But  the  fiercest  storm  that 
ever  raged  upon  the  maddest  sea,  must  sooner  or  later  be 
followed  by  a  lull.  And  in  the  still  depths  of  night,  her 
weary  spirit  paused  in  such  a  lull.  She  awoke  calmer 
for  the  storm  that  had  wellnigh  prostrated  her.  She 
repented  of  her  weakness,  and  asked  strength  of  Heaven. 
Nor  was  it  denied  her.  With  heroic  endurance  and 
sweet  submission,  she  set  herself  about  her  task,  and 
faltered  not  in  her  purpose. 

Some  days  after  this,  as  she  sat  in  her  chamber  one 
afternoon,  Polly  looked  in,  saying, — 

"  Miss  Marion,  Mr.  Perley  would  like  to  see  you." 

"  Teh1  him  I  will  be  down  directly." 

Mr.  Perley  had  long  been  Judge  Graham's  partner  in  a 
large  manufacturing  establishment  at  Haley,  about  fifty 
miles  from  Glenwood.  As  the  latter  had  great  confi- 
dence in  his  associate's  business  talents,  he  had  left  the 
management  of  affairs  chiefly  in  his  hands.  Marion 
naturally  supposed  he  had  now  called  on  matters  relat- 
ing to  the  late  dissolution  of  partnership.  She  had  oc- 
casionally seen  him,  and  did  not  therefore  regard  him 
as  a  stranger. 


OR,    HIiiUKK    THAN    HAIT1XKSS.  175 

Concerning  his  personnel,  —  he  was  what  many  would 
call  a  handsome  man;  —  that  is,  his  complexion  was 
fair  and  his  features  regular.  But  his  countenance  was 
lacking  in  honest  manliness,  and  there  was  a  certain 
expression  about  the  lower  part  of  the  face,  difficult  to 
define,  but  not  quite  pleasant  in  its  effect  upon  her.  His 
voice  was  smooth  and  silken,  and  he  had  that  bland, 
'leferential  air  which  never  fails  to  command  attention. 

As  Marion  entered,  he  made  a  low  bow,  and  cordially 
offering  his  hand,  said  in  a  sympathizing  tone,  — 

"  Miss  Graham  will  excuse  my  intruding  upon  the  sa- 
credness  of  her  sorrow.  I  think  I  can  feel  for  you  in  your 
sudden  bereavement.  I  have  business  with  you,  it  is 
true,"  continued  he,  answering  her  inquiring  looks,  "  but 
as  I  shall  spend  some  time  in  town,  allow  me  to  waive 
that  till  I  can  win  something  of  your  confidence.  In 
the  mean  time,  I  shall  be  happy  to  serve  you  in  any  way 
in  my  power." 

His  voice  was  so  subdued,  and  his  manners  so  respect- 
ful, that,  although  Marion  had  never  been  prepossessed 
in  his  favor,  her  feelings  gradually  softened  towards  him. 
Exerting  himself  to  the  utmost,  he  at  length  succeeded 
in  drawing  her  into  conversation. 

"As  a  pleasant  proof  of  your  father's  kind  feelings,  I 
will  put  into  your  hands  a  few  of  the  letters  I  have  re- 
ceived from  him.  And  I  hope  they  will  remove  any 
objection  you  may  feel  at  allowing  me  to  serve  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  Mr.  Godwin  attends  to  all  my 
affairs,  and  I  presume  has  no  need  of  assistance.  But, 
for  my  father's  sake,  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  when- 
ever you  may  feel  like  calling  at  so  solitary  a  place." 

"  My  time  is  much  occupied,  but  whenever  I  can 
command  a  leisure  moment,  you  will  be  sure  to  see  me  ; 


17C>  MARION  GRAHAM; 

which,"  added  he,  "  I  trust  you  will  yet  be  glad  to  do 
for  my  own  sake." 

The  letters  Mr.  Perley  had  left,  Marion  found  fully 
expressive  of  her  father's  confidence,  and  of  his  friendli- 
ness towards  him. 

"  I  fear  he  thought  me  cold,"  she  said  to  herself,  while 
a  tear  trembled  on  her  eyelids. 

The  next  time  he  called,  she  received  him  with  cor- 
diality, assuring  him  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  see  one 
whom  her  father  had  so  highly  esteemed.  From  this 
time,  Mr.  Perley  became  a  frequent  visitor,  and  grad- 
ually, by  his  insinuating  address,  succeeded  in  banish- 
ing Marion's  reserve,  and  in  ascertaining  something  of 
her  future  plans. 

"  I  think  I  am  now  able  to  attend  to  the  business  of 
which  you  spoke  at  our  first  interview,"  said  Marion  to 
him  one  evening. 

"  *  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.'  I  dread 
to  disturb  the  serenity  of  these  hours.  And  besides,  I 
hardly  know  whether  I  have  yet  succeeded  in  winning 
your  confidence." 

"  I  certainly  confide  in  you  as  a  true  friend  of  my  fa- 
ther." 

"  And  as  equally  so  of  his  daughter  ?  "  asked  he,  look- 
ing earnestly  at  her. 

With  a  slight  increase  of  color,  she  replied,  — 

"  1  do  not  doubt  your  friendship." 

"  Do  you  doubt  that  I  would  sacrifice  much  for  your 
sake  ?  " 

"  I  trust  the  question  is  not  of  sacrifice." 

For  a  few  minutes,  he  seemed  absorbed  in  thought, 
and  then,  with  a  glance  of  sympathy,  he  said,  — 

"  It  was  not  agreeable  business  that  brought  me  lu-re, 


OR,    HTCTFER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  177 

and  I  shrink  from  making  it  known.  Soon,  however,  it 
must  be  laid  before  you." 

At  his  next  call,  he  seemed  reluctant  to  enter  into 
conversation.  At  length,  casting  his  eyes  to  the  floor, 
he  said  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  If  what  I  communicate  is  painful  to  you,  Miss  Gra- 
ham, I  trust  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  believe  that 
it  is  hardly  less  so  to  me.  Will  you  allow  me  with 
frankness,  to  make  a  few  inquiries  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  she  replied,  agitated  in  spite  of  her- 
self. 

"  Are  you  aware  of  the  precise  extent  of  your  father's 
reverses  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  and  she  raised  her  head  rather 
proudly. 

"  Nay,  Miss  Graham,  take  no  ofTence,  but  pity  me 
that  I  have  assumed  a  task  to  which  my  heart  is  un- 
equal." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  but  this  suspense  is  trying." 

"  May  I  ask  wrhat  was  his  own  view  in  respect  to  his 
affairs  ?  " 

"  He  told  me,"  she  answered  with  effort,  "  that  by  the 
sale  of  his  estate,  he  should  realize  an  income  sufficient 
to  live  upon." 

"  He  was  not  then  aware,"  and  his  voice  was  scarcely 
audible,  "that  —  that  his  daughter  would  be  left  penni- 
less." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"  It  must  have  been  from  ignorance,  for  he  could  never 
nave  intended  any  thing  dishonorable.  Bat  it  is  hard 
to  account  for." 

"  Your  implications,  Mr.  Perley,  distress  me.' 

And,  turning  deadly  pale,  she  seemed  about  to  faint. 


178  MARIOK  GRAHAM  ; 

He  brought  her  a  glass  of  water  from  the  sideboard, 
and  having  drunk  freely,  she  regained  her  control,  and 
begged  Mr.  Perley  to  finish  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  You  are  not  in  a  condition  to  hear  any  thing  furthei 
at  present.  And  I  find  I  have  undertaken  what  I  can- 
not accomplish.  Whenever  you  choose  to  send  for  Mr. 
Godwin,  he  will  explain  the  whole.  After  that  1  \\  iil 
see  you  again.  Believe  me,  Miss  Graham,  I  have 
labored  to  avert  this  issue,  but  in  vain.  If  in  any  way 
I  can  bring  you  relief,  be  assured  I  shall  account  it  ;i 
privilege  to  do  so." 

Marion's  was  a  generous  nature,  and  he  spoke  with 
so  much  earnestness,  that  she  was  moved.  Turning  to- 
wards him  her  swimming  eyes,  she  faltered  forth,  — 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  interest  in  an  orphan." 

An  expression  she  could  not  understand  crossed  his 
face,  but  as  she  looked  again,  it  was  gone.  After  he 
left,  she  sat  wondering  what  new  trial  was  in  store  for 
her,  and  at  length  sent  a  request  for  Mr.  Godwin  to  call 
immediately. 

Mr.  Godwin,  a  man  of  known  probity  and  excellence, 
was  administrator  on  the  estate  of  Judge  Graham.  In 
answer  to  Marion's  inquiries,  he  told  her  that,  at  the  dis- 
solution of  his  partnership,  her  father  had  assured  him 
that  the  estate  was  unencumbered  by  debt,  yet  that  a 
few  days  after  his  death,  Mr.  Perley  had  presented  a 
large  claim. 

"  To  what  amount  ?  " 

"  Fifteen  thousand  dollars.  But  he  expressed  great 
regret  at  the  necessity  of  doing  this.  He  told  me  that 
Mr.  Ambrose,  of  Farland,  who  failed  a  few  weeks  since, 
was  owing  the  Company  forty  thousand  dollars,  and 
that  he  was  unable  to  secure  more  than  twenty-five 


OR,    IJKJHKR    THAN    HAPl'INKSS.  17J» 


on  a  dollar.  I  had  known  before,  that  this  was  all 
Mr.  Ambrose  could  pay  his  creditors,  but  I  was  not 
aware  that  your  father  was  involved  in  his  failure.  Mr. 
Perley  was  obliged  to  advance  the  remaining  thirty 
thousand  dollars,  in  order  to  refund  the  bank,  which 
had  discounted  the  notes.  He  then  came  to  Glenwood, 
not  doubting  that  your  father  had  sufficient  resources 
to  meet  his  part  of  the  loss,  and  yet  be  left  with  some- 
thing of  an  income.  The  news  of  his  death  was  a 
great  shock,  and  caused  him  much  perplexity,  for  he 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  distressing  you.  He  finally 
concluded  to  break  the  subject  gradually,  suggesting  the 
possibility  of  a  compromise. 

"  It  is  unaccountable  to  me  that  your  father  should 
not  have  learned  of  Mr.  Ambrose's  failure,  and  thus 
have  foreseen  his  own  insolvency.  And  yet,  as  he  could 
not  have  remedied  the  matter,  we  have  reason  to  be 
glad  that  he  was  spared  so  much  pain.  As  for  Mr. 
Perley,  I  must  say  that  he  has  behaved  very  honorably 
in  the  whole  matter." 

The  rain  was  descending  in  torrents,  when  Mr.  Perley 
called  for  another  interview.  Marion  exerted  herself  to 
be  hospitable,  and  as  he  stood  a  moment  before  the 
cheerful  fire,  she  rolled  up  an  arm-chair  for  him. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Graham,  but  I  fear  you  consider 
me  an  unwelcome  guest." 

As  he  spoke,  the  housekeeper  came  in  and  placed  two 
tall,  lighted  candles  on  the  mantel-piece.  Mr.  Perley, 
who  had  always  graciously  noticed  Polly,  followed  her 
to  the  door,  saying,  — 

"  My  good  woman,  I  am  sure  it  is  Miss  Graham's 
wish  that  no  one  should  interrupt  us  this  evening." 

Marion  was  a  little  annoyed  at  this  speech,  but  made 


ISO  MARION  OIUHAM: 

no  comment.  If  she  looked  for  an  assuming  air  how- 
ever, she  was  mistaken,  for  the  moment  Polly  left,  he 
relapsed  into  a  silence  which  continued  so  long,  that 
she  felt  obliged  to  commence  the  conversation  she  so 
dreaded. 

"  Mr.  Godwin  informs  me  that  you  have  a  large  claim 
ji  gainst  my  father's  estate." 

"  Be  assured,  Miss  Graham,  I  do  not  impute  any 
wrong  to  him  ;  but  —  the  world  —  the  trouble  is  to  stop 
people's  tongues." 

Marion  looked  up  indignantly. 

"  Excuse  me !  but  such  things  always  get  exagger- 
ated ;  and  I  shrink  from  the  blame  that,  however  un- 
justly, will  be  attached  to  your  father's  memory,  when 
it  is  known  that  he  died  insolvent.  Do  not  be  dis- 
pleased with  my  frankness.  My  only  object  is  to  bring 
you  relief." 

Marion  was  affected  by  his  warmth,  and  replied, — 

"  I  cannot  doubt  your  interest,  sir.  I  had  not  thought 
of  such  a  misconstruction,  but  I  see  it  is  possible.  I 
will  do  every  thing  in  my  power  to  meet  these  liabilities, 
and  I  am  sure  I  can  trust  to  your  generosity  for  silence." 

"  I  need  not  reply  that  your  wish  is  sacred.  But,  my 
dear  friend,  as  you  will  suffer  me  to  call  you,  pressed  as 
I  am  at  this  juncture,  I  cannot  consent  to  have  you  dis- 
tressed. I  admit  that  I  have  hesitated  in  coming  to  this 
conclusion,  but  my  heart  will  not  surfer  me  to  do  other- 
wise.'' And  taking  a  paper  from  his  pocket-book,  he 
held  it  oat  to  her,  saying,  "  Here  is  a  full  release  from 
my  claims." 

Flusned  with  surprise,  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  I  tnanK  you  with  all  my  heart  for  your  unexpected 
and  most  liberal  offer.  But  it  would  be  utterly  out  of 
my  power  to  accept  it." 


OB,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  181 

"  Let  me  urge  you,"  he  said,  drawing  his  chair  nearer. 
"  How  could  I  sleep  with  the  thought  of  your  being 
reduced  to  want  ever  present  in  my  mind  ?  " 

"  It  is  of  no  use,"  replied  she,  smiling,  while  she  wiped 
a  tear  from  her  eye.  "  How  could  /sleep  with  the  feel- 
ing that  your  just  claim  was  not  met  ?  No,  sir,  in  some 
way  I  shall  contrive  to  make  full  payment.  But  your 
sympathy  has  done  me  good." 

He  saw  his  advantage,  and  bending  towards  her,  in 
almost  a  whisper  he  said,  — 

"  You  are  too  proud  to  receive  a  favor ;  are  you  will- 
ing to  grant  one  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Perley.     But  how  can  I  serve  you  ?  " 

"  Let  me  become  your  protector,  Miss  Graham.  Give 
me  the  right  to  repair  your  losses,  and  to  restore  you  to 
wealth  and  happiness." 

She  looked  inquiringly,  not  catching  his  meaning,  and 
he  slowly  added,  — 

"  Become  my  wife." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  the  honor  you  do  me.  But  your 
proposal  is  only  another  mode  of  your  former  one.  And 
in  this,  you  ask  what  cannot  be." 

"  And  why  not  ? "  said  he  in  the  most  persuasive 
tones.  "  Let  me  beg  you,  at  least,  to  take  my  proposal 
into  consideration." 

"  I  fully  appreciate  your  kindness ;  but  the  thing  is 
impossible." 

"  Impossible !     Are  you  not  your  own  mistress  ?  " 

Annoyed  by  his  importunity,  she  answered  a  little 
curtly,  — 

"  My  mind  is  fully  made  up." 

With  an  injured  air,  he  replied, — 

"  I  beg  pardon  if  I  have  offended.     I  am  not  skilled 


182  MARION   GRAHAM; 

in  paying  court  to  the  ladies,  but  my  purpose  was  hon- 
est, if  not  wise.  You  refuse  to  accept  a  release  from 
my  claims  ;  and  when  I  propose  the  only  thing  remain- 
ing, you  scornfully  reject  my  hand." 

Fearing  she  had  wounded  his  feelings,  she  said,  — 

"Forgive  my  abruptness.  You  know  not  how  I 
have  suffered." 

"You  have  my  ready  forgiveness;  but  how  shall 
your  father's  name  be  shielded  ?  and  if  you  insist  on 
making  the  payment,  what  is  to  become  of  you?" 

"And  can  you  think  that  a  union,  without  affection 
on  either  side,  would  bring  happiness?" 

"  But  I  love  you,  and  I  cannot  give  you  up.  Will 
you  not  relent  for  the  sake  of  your  father's  reputation, 
which  is  in  my  hands?  " 

"  That  I  can  trust  with  God." 

"  To  save  yourself  from  beggary  ?  " 

"  Not  to  save  myself  from  beggary." 

"  Can  nothing  move  you  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  nothing." 

"  But,  my  dear  lady,  you  heard  me  tell  your  house- 
keeper that  we  wished  to  be  alone,  and  did  not  con- 
tradict me.  Can  you  not  see  that  you  are  fated  to  be 
mine  ?  " 

Moving  to  the  side  of  the  room,  and  taking  hold  of 
the  bell-rope,  she  quietly  replied,  — 

"  Leave  me,  or  I  will  summon  the  household." 


That  night  Marion  dreamed  of  being  again  a  child 
with  Bessie;  but  while  her  playmate  was  always  in 
the  sunshine,  a  strange,  veiled  figure  ever  went  before 
her,  casting  a  dark  shadow  over  her  path.  Yet  she  had 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  183 

no  power  to  turn  aside,  for  there  was  a  spell  ih:it  drew 
her  on,  and  so  she  pursued  the  mysterious  form  to  the 
edge  of  a  precipice,  when  it  suddenly  disappeared,  and 
she  followed,  falling  and  falling  and  falling,  till  her  own 
struggles  awaked  her,  again  to  lose  herself  in  dreams  of 
shrouds  and  burials,  of  cruel  foes  and  bitter  persecutions. 
Yet  in  all  these  varied  scenes  of  distress  and  misery,  she 
never  lost  sight  of  a  radiant  face,  bending  over  her  from 
the  heavens,  —  she  never  ceased  to  hear  a  voice  saying 
in  angelic  tones,  "  What  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now, 
but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter." 

Poor  Marion !  disappointed  and  tempest-tossed,  af- 
flicted and  insulted,  desolate  and  forsaken, —  yet  the 
protecting  wings  of  love  are  over  her,  and  not  a  hair  of 
her  head  shall  be  harmed  ! 


184  MARION   GRAHAM 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"  0  dove  of  Peace !  as  once  in  record  olden, 

Brood  o'er  the  surges'  breast; 

Spread  wide  '  thy  silvery  wings  and  feathers  golden,' 
Till  all  be  hushed  to  "rest." 

THE  skies  were  darkening  around  Marion,  but,  trust- 
ing in  infinite  wisdom,  she  sought  to  meet  her  accumu- 
lating trials  with  fortitude.  Sending  a  note  to  Mr. 
Godwin,  she  requested  an  interview  at  Mr.  Vinton's, 
where  she  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  spend  a  few  days. 
Without  entering  into  particulars,  she  told  him  that  she 
must  close  up  matters  with  Mr.  Perley  at  once.  He 
expressed  his  surprise,  telling  her  that  Mr.  Perley  had 
had  a  long  interview  with  him  that  morning,  and  that 
he  expressed  the  deepest  regret  that  she  insisted  on  re- 
fusing a  release  from  his  claim.  He  hoped,  however, 
she  would  consent  to  a  compromise. 

"  I  can  accept  no  favors,  and  I  have  concluded  to  give 
up  every  thing.  Can  you  tell  me  how  the  property  is 
valued?" 

"  It  is  a  very  bad  time  for  adjustment,  and  I  wish  you 
were  willing  to  defer  it,  as  Mr.  Perley  kindly  urges." 

"  Impossible.  Please  tell  me  how  the  estate  is  ap- 
prized." 

"  At  no  more  than  hah0  its  worth.  The  house  and 
grounds  are  valued  only  at  $10,500,  and,  at  auction, 
might  bring  even  less.  The  cottage  is  apprized  at 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  185 

$2,500,  and  the  furniture  at  $1,200,  —  a  great  sacrifice 
of  every  thing,  if  given  up." 

"  And  what  should  you  judge  a  young  lady's  per- 
sonal effects,  including  of  course  some  jewelry,  would 
realize  ?  " 

He  smiled  doubtfully  as  he  answered, — 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  much  about  such  things.  If  I 
should  guess,  however,  I  should  say  perhaps  a  few  hun- 
dreds more.  But  what  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  must  pay  the  whole  demand." 

He  looked  keenly  at  her  as  she  continued,  — 

"  I  wish  to  give  up  every  thing,  and  earn  the  re- 
maining sum  that  may  still  be  due." 

He  still  gazed,  and,  as  she  fancied,  with  a  hard  ex- 
pression ;  and  with  a  little  wounded  feeling  in  her  tone, 
she  asked, — 

"  Do  you  think  me  boastful  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  are  a  noble  girl,  and  God  will  surely 
bless  you.  But,"  added  he,  warmly  grasping  her  hand, 
"  I  cannot  allow  you  to  follow  your  impulses.  You 
have  no  right  to  ruin  yourself.  Besides,  Mr.  Perley 
would  never  consent  to  such  an  arrangement." 

"  But  I  must " 

"  Nonsense !  I  shall  not  suffer  my  ward  to  make  so 
wholesale  a  sacrifice.  Besides,  your  faithful  Polly 
would  have  no  home.  Listen  to  reason.  Keep  your 
personal  property  and  your  cottage ;  and  select  what 
furniture  you  like,  as  Mr.  Perley  proposes.  He  has 
behaved  nobly  through  the  whole,  and  you  have  no  right 
to  wound  him  by  such  seeming  distrust.  And  I  think 
you  will  even  then  have  done  all  that  the  most  chival- 
rous sense  of  duty  can  demand." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  but  I  could  not  endure  such  obliga- 


186  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

tion.  I  do  not  mean  to  be  obstinate,  however,  so  I  will 
retain  what  you  suggest,  on  condition  that  you  will  write 
me  a  note  to  be  given  him  for  the  remainder  of  the  debt, 
securing  him,  so  far  as  possible,  by  a  mortgage  on  the 
cottage  and  furniture." 

"  Mr.  Perley  would  be  displeased/' 

"  I  must  incur  his  displeasure,  then." 

"  Is  your  decision  irrevocable  ?  " 

"  It  is." 

"  Then  I  will  waste  no  more  words.  But  it  will  only 
be  a  form,  for  Mr.  Perley  will  make  no  use  of  it.  And 
I  shall  make  the  best  apology  lean  for  your  persistence," 
added  he,  smiling. 

The  next  day  she  received  ihe  following  note  :  — 

"  I  cannot  express  my  chagrin,  Miss  Graham,  that 
you  refuse  the  smallest  favor  from  me.  I  admit  that 
my  violence  was  unpardonable,  and  in  palliation,  I  can 
only  plead  a  love  that  could  not  endure  denial.  Will 
you  not  allow  me  to  express  my  deep  penitence  in  per- 
son, and  to  solicit  your  forgiveness  ?  Perhaps  I  ought 
to  expect  that  your  resentment  will  be  lasting;  but  I 
throw  myself  on  your  charity.  Do  not  refuse  to  see 
me,  if  only  for  one  moment. 

Yours,  unworthily, 

AUGUSTUS  PERLEY." 

"  MR.  PERLEY,  —  I  cannot  doubt  your  sincerity,  es- 
pecially as  it  is  attested  by  such  generous  treatment. 
An  interview,  however,  would  be  painful  to  us  both. 
But  I  can  assure  you  of  my  free  forgiveness.  And 
more,  if  by  my  harshness  I  gave  you  provocation,  I 
frankly  ask  your  pardon. 


OR,    Hir.HKK   THAN    HAPPINESS.  187 

You  will  excuse  my  insisting  on  your  taking  the 
note.  I  could  not  otherwise  find  rest. 

MARION  GRAHAM." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Miss  Graham,  for  your  precious 
assurance.  Your  request  for  pardon  is  unnecessary,  for 
you  had  abundant  reason  for  indignation. 

Your  refusal  to  see  me  occasions  me  unfeigned  sor- 
row. But  if  my  life  is  spared  and  I  am  unable  to  serve 
you,  it  will  not  be  for  want  of  a  will.  Time  will  at 
length  convince  you  of  my  entire  sincerity,  and  will 
plead  more  successfully  than  I  can  now  expect  to  do, 
for  the  restoration  of  a  small  measure  of  your  confi- 
dence. 

Yours,  with  profound  respect, 

A.  PERLEY." 

The  next  day  Marion  removed  to  the  cottage  which 
Polly  had  put  in  readiness.  In  the  evening,  as  they 
sat  together  in  the  little  parlor,  she  said,  — 

"  I  must  leave  you  before  long." 

Polly  looked  up  for  explanation. 

"  Contrary  to  my  father's  opinion,  there  is  a  large 
debt  to  be  paid.  And  I  am  resolved  to  earn  money  to 
meet  every  demand." 

Polly  listened  with  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open  in  as- 
tonishment. She  had  no  idea  of  a  woman's  earning 
money  in  any  other  way  than  by  actual  labor.  She 
could  work  her  old  fingers  to  the  bone,  but  that  her 
young  mistress  should  be  driven  to  work,  was  not  to 
be  thought  of.  So  she  got  up,  and  going  into  her  little 
bedroom,  she  unlocked  her  large  blue  wooden  chest, 
ana,  rummaging  round,  soon  fished  up  from  its  depths 


188  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

the  foot  of  an  old  cotton  stocking  carefully  tied  up. 
Returning,  she  tremblingly  untied  it,  and  emptied  the 
contents  into  Marion's  lap. 

"  There,  Miss  Milly,  them  are  good  fifty  silver  dollars, 
and  I've  a  heap  more  on  'em  in  the  bank,  and  they're  all 
yourn.  Don't  go  a  shakin'  yer  head  so.  It's  to  be  as 
I  say." 

"  But,  Polly,  what  would  you  live  upon  ?  " 

"  I  can  take  in  washing,  and  keep  us  both." 

"  But  even  if  I  should  consent  to  your  generous  prop- 
sition,  it  would  hardly  begin  to  pay  the  debt,  and  you 
would  be  left  penniless." 

Polly  was  confounded  at  this,  and  greatly  surprised 
moreover,  that  her  mistress  was  expecting  to  earn  as 
much  again  as  she  had  been  all  her  days  earning. 

"  You  know  no  more  of  life  than  a  child,  Miss  Mar- 
ion, nor  how  tough  it  is  to  make  yer  own  way." 

Marion  thought  she  had  of  late  had  a  little  experience 
of  life,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

"Anyhow,  you  must  use  this  too." 

"  Not  one  cent  of  it,  dear  Polly.  You  must  keep  that 
to  take  care  of  me  when  I'm  worn  out  with  work,"  and 
she  tried  to  smile. 

Polly  sighed  as  she  again  tied  up  her  rejected  treas- 
ure. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  deal  better  for  me  to  teach  than  to 
be  doing  nothing." 

"  Is  it  teaching  ?  "  said  Polly,  her  eyes  brightening. 
"  I  feared  you  was  sot  on  goin'  to  sarvice,  and  I  couldn't 
seem  to  brook  that  nohow." 

Marion  laughed  and  Polly  laughed,  and  then  they 
went  into  a  committee  of  the  whole. 

"  Why  can't  you  take  the  district  school  here,  and  so 
live  with  me  ?  " 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  189 

"A  good  idea,  Polly,  and  I  wonder  I  had  not  thought 
of  it  mysetf.  I  will  apply  to-morrow." 

It  so  happened  that  none  of  Marion's  friends  were  of 
the  school-committee.  So  she  called  at  Mr.  Dogget's, 
a  coarse,  pompous  man,  who,  from  the  property  he  had 
acquired,  was  not  without  influence  in  the  community. 
He  had  never  liked  the  Grahams,  because,  as  he  said, 
they  prided  themselves  on  being  gentlefolks.  And  he 
was  not  sorry  for  an  opportunity  to  show  his  grudge. 

"  Your  father  had  better  have  set  you  to  work  in  his 
lifetime,  and  not  left  you  on  the  town." 

"  I  must  beg  you  to  make  no  reflections  on  my  fa- 
ther, whatever  you  may  think  of  his  daughter,"  replied 
Marion  with  a  burning  face. 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  Miss,  how  you  expect  to  git 
along  with  them  proud  ways.  You'll  have  to  step 
down  a  peg  or  two  I  guess." 

Choking  back  her  uprising  heart,  she  next  went  to 
Mr.  Martyn,  a  timid  man,  who,  though  kindly  disposed, 
dared  not  differ  from  his  "  betters,"  as  he  called  them. 

"  Have  you  been  to  Mr.  Dogget's  ?  " 

She  told  him  of  the  interview. 

"  It's  a  thousand  pities,  for  he's  not  a  man  you  can  af- 
ford to  offend.  But  you  can  come  to  the  examination 
with  the  other  candidates  next  Thursday  evening,  and 
I'll  do  my  best  for  you." 

The  dreaded  evening  came,  and  with  a  faint  heart 
but  a  firm  step,  Marion  went  alone  to  the  school-house. 
The  formidable  Mr.  Dogget  was  in  the  chair. 

"  Set  down,  set  down,  Miss  Graham,"  exclaimed  he 
roughly,  with  an  imperative  wave  of  his   hand,  and  a 
manner  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Now  we  shall  see  how 
well  educated  the  gentry  are." 
10 


190  MARION   GRAHAM  : 

Taking  an  Atlas,  he  looked  over  it  for  some  time  as  if 
hunting  for  posers. 

"  You  may  give  me  the  population  of  Ningoota." 

"  I  cannot,  sir." 

"  Well,  then,  on  what  river  is  Yakoutsk  ?  " 

«  I  don't  know." 

"  Humph  !  —  What  is  the  circumference  of  Lake  Su- 
perior ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  How  long  is  the  river  Rhone  ?  " 

Still  no  reply.  Looking  round  on  his  compeers  with 
affected  dismay,  — 

'"Pon  honor,  gentlemen,  but  if  you  can  make  any 
thing  of  her,  ye're  welcome  to." 

She  was  embarrassed  and  distressed  at  such  inju-tice  : 
and,  although  one  or  two  of  the  committee  tried  to  en- 
courage herr  she  refused  to  submit  to  further  examina- 
tion. Mr.  Dogget  having  pronounced  upon  her  the 
charge  of  incompetency,  with  a  swelling  heart  she  left. 
the  school-house,  and  the  vacancy  was  rilled  by  one  who 
had  not  a  tithe  of  her  ability  or  education. 

Hard  lessons  has  the  world  for  the  delicate  and  the 
sensitive  to  learn !  Sharp  corners  pierce  you  on  every 
side.  The  heavens  above  seem  iron,  and  the  earth  brass 
under  your  feet.  So  thought  Marion  as  she  trod  the 
cold  streets. 

"  I  will  call  at  Mr.  Morton's  and  ask  counsel." 

"  There  is  a  providence  in  all  these  things,"  said  he, 
having  listened  to  her  story  with  deep  interest.  "  I  have 
to-day  received  a  paper  from  Carrisford,  containing  an 
advertisement  for  a  teacher  as  principal  of  the  High 
School  there.  It  was  marked,  as  if  to  solicit  my  at- 
tention. Carrisford  is  sixty  miles  from  here,  and  though 


OR,    1ITGHKR   THAN    HA1MMNFSS.  1<»1 

I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  you  go  so  far,  yet  the 
post  is  a  much  more  fitting  one  for  you  than  any 
district  school." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  apply  for  the  place,  but  how  had 
I  better  do  it  ?  " 

"  The  term  commences,  as  I  see,  in  a  fortnight ;  and 
1here  is  no  time  to  lose.  Your  safest  way  will  be  to  go 
1here  at  once.  To-morrow  I  will  write  a  line  introduc- 
ing you  to  Mr.  Sunderland,  a  minister  of  that  place, 
whose  lather  was  an  old  friend  of  mine.  He  will  give 
you  every  assistance  you  need." 

Marion  dared  not  spend  time  in  thought,  but  occu- 
pied every  moment  in  preparation  for  her  absence. 
On  the  next  Monday  afternoon,  she  took  the  cars  for 
Ramsdale,  where  she  was  to  spend  a  part  of  the  night, 
completing  her  journey  by  stage.  At  half  past  one,  sin- 
was  awaked  by  a  thundering  rap  at  her  door,  and  a 
loud  call  from  the  landlord.  It  was  a  raw,  chilly  night ; 
and  when  she  descended,  the  passengers,  all  male,  wen; 
walking  about,  yawning  and  stamping  and  whistling. 
An  indescribable  sense  of  loneliness  came  over  Marion 
as  she  sat  waiting  the  summons.  At  length  a  stento- 
rian voice  screamed  out,  "  Stage  ready !  "  Then  fol- 
lowed a  hurrying  and  crowding,  and  soon  Marion,  find- 
ing herself  in  a  coarse,  unmannerly  company,  drew  her 
large  shawl  close  around  her,  and  tried  to  sleep.  But 
the  attempt  was  hopeless.  As  the  fumes  of  tobacco 
sickened  her,  she  asked  one  of  the  passengers  if  he 
would  be  good  enough  to  roll  up  the  curtain. 

"  Can't,  ma'am,  without  stopping  the  driver,  and  he's 
in  too  great  a  hurry  I  reckon."  And  they  all  laughed 
as  if  it  were  a  great  joke. 

"  I  am  very  sick.  Will  one  of  you  allow  me  to  take 
a  middle  scat  by  the  window?  " 


192  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

"  I  reckon  I'll  make  as  much  sacrifice  as  that,  for  I'd 
like  the  back  seat  anyhow." 

With  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  she  was  at  length 
seated,  and  tried  to  raise  the  window. 

"  That  wa'nt  in  the  bargain,"  called  out  the  man  next 
her  with  a  coarse  laugh.  "  You  asked  to  sit  by  the 
window,  not  to  have  it  .open,  and  I  reckon  you  may  as 
well  be  content  with  what  you've  got." 

Just  then  they  stopped  to  change  the  mail ;  and  the 
coachman,  a  good-natured  fellow,  opened  the  door,  and 
holding  up  his  lantern  looked  in,  saying,  "  All  snug 
there?" 

"  Will  you  please  raise  this  window  for  me  ?  I  am 
very  sick  from  the  close  air." 

"  Certain,  ma'am.  I'd  do  as  much  as  that  for  not 
half  so  nice  a  lady  as  you." 

Marion  leaned  her  aching  head  against  the  window, 
while  her  companions,  as  if  to  annoy  her  for  having  her 
own  way,  became  more  and  more  offensive.  She 
thought  the  dark  night  would  never  end  ;  but  at  length 
bright  morning  appeared  with  a  single  jewel  gleaming 
upon  her  forehead.  Never  was  a  sunrise  more  welcome  ; 
and  as  she  looked  upon  the  glowing  east,  she  tried  to 
lift  up  her  heart  for  healing  and  strength. 

As  they  stopped  at  a  small  village,  a  gentleman  ap- 
proaching, inquired  "  Is  there  room  inside  ?  "  There 
was  something  in  his  tones  that  spoke  of  refinement ; 
and  when  a  gruff  voice  called  out  "  All  full,"  and  he 
turned  to  leave,  Marion  ventured  to  say, — 

"  I  believe  there's  one  vacant  seat,  sir." 

"  Thank  you." 

The  two  who  had  spread  out  so  as  to  fill  the  front 
seat,  now  nudged  each  other,  whispering  in  revenge, 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  193 

"  She's  after  a  spark;"  at  which  the  whole  crew  laughed 
till  the  stage  rang  again.  As  the  new-comer,  however, 
got  in,  the  two  were  obliged  to  curtail  themselves,  while 
he  sat  down  opposite  Marion.  Though  she  could  not 
help  coloring  at  the  rude  remark  concerning  herself,  yet 
the  moment  she  had  a  full  view  of  the  stranger,  she  felt 
that  there  was  protection  in  his  presence,  and  was 
repaid  for  the  effort  of  speaking.  His  features  were  not 
regular,  but  his  countenance  betokened  peculiar  sin- 
cerity, intelligence,  and  sensibility,  while  his  mouth 
expressed  unusual  firmness,  blended  with  sweetness.  If 
his  manners  struck  you  as  decided,  they  were  at  the 
same  time  marked  by  a  delicacy,  which  prevented  the 
impression  that  he  was  harsh  or  overbearing. 

All  attempts  at  conversation  between  him  and  Mar- 
ion were  forbidden  by  the  vulgar  and  noisy  talk  of  their 
companions.  They  soon  stopped  for  an  early  breakfast, 
but  Marion  declined  going  to  the  table,  preferring  to 
remain  in  a  little  room  by  herself.  A  maid,  however, 
brought  her  a  cup  of  tea  and  some  dry  toast. 

"  I  called  for  nothing." 

"  No  ma'am,  but  the  gentleman  placed  them  on  the 
tray  and  told  me  to  bring  them  to  you.  And  he  told 
me  to  ask  you  if  you  would  have  any  thing  else." 

"  Nothing  more,  I  thank  you,  and  I  will  pay  you  for 
this." 

"  But  he  paid  himself,  ma'am." 

The  tears  sprang  to  Marion's  eyes,  for  she  was  in  just 
the  circumstances  to  appreciate  such  delicate  kindness. 
And  when  he  appeared,  she  cordially  thanked  him  for 
his  attention. 

"  There  is  a  fine  seat  on  the  outside  of  the  stage," 
said  he,  "  and  if  it  will  not  be  too  cold  for  you,  I 


194  MARION  GRAHAM; 

think  you  will  be  saved  much  annoyance  by  riding 
there." 

"  I  have  no  fear  of  the  cold,  and  shall  consider  it  a 
great  gain." 

It  was  a  charming  valley  they  were  passing  through  ; 
and  a  flood  of  yellow  sunshine  was  pouring  into  it, 
brightening  up  every  sombre  thing,  and  giving  a  richer 
glow  to  the  gorgeous  foliage  of  the  trees,  while  the  blue 
hills  in  the  distance  seemed  tipped  with  fire. 

"  With  the  sweet  singer  of  old,  I  can  say,  '  Thou 
hast  made  me  glad  through  thy  works.'  " 

Marion's  new  acquaintance  said  this  with  an  air  of 
sincerity  which  did  her  good,  and  smiling  significantly, 
she  replied,  — 

" '  My  Father  made  them  all.'  " 

"  Now  I  am  twice  glad." 

There  are  moments  of  electricity  between  soul  and 
soul,  when  a  word  from  the  one  strikes  upon  the  other 
with  thrilling  power.  Such  a  moment  was  the  present. 
They  could  both  converse  in  the  language  of  Canaan, 
and  ceremony  between  them  was  annihilated.  Every 
time  Marion  looked  into  the  stranger's  open  counte- 
nance, she  felt  an  increasing  confidence  ;  and  on  his 
part,  he  watched  her  varying  expression  with  interest, 
while  her  deep  mourning,  and  the  air  of  profound  sad- 
ness that  occasionally  fell  upon  her,  touched  his  feelings. 

"  Do  you  ever  wonder,"  inquired  she  after  a  season 
of  silence,  "  why  such  beings  as  those  we  have  just  left, 
were  created  ?  " 

"  I  have  wondered,  but  now  I  trust" 

<k  Trust  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  do  not  question  as  once.  I  trust  in  God, 
and  there  find  rest." 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  195 

"  But  is  not  the  subject  of  eternal  misery  most  mys- 
terious as  well  as  appalling  ?  " 

"  I  know  '  God  is  love,'  as  he  has  represented  him- 
self;  —  that  we  can  have  but  the  faintest  conception  of 
the  love  that  glows  in  his  heart,  and  that  moved  him  to 
ihe  great  work  of  redemption.  Therefore  I  believe  he 
does  the  best  for  every  one  of  his  creatures  that  the  case 
will  allow ;  and  that,  if  their  doom  is  eternal  misery,  it  is 
the  fate  they  deserve,  —  the  fate  they  choose" 

"  But  an  eternity  of  suffering  seems  such  an  awful 
penalty  for  a  benevolent  being  to  inflict." 

"  But,  lady,  suppose  that  on  the  whole  they  prefer 
hell  to  heaven,  as  we  can  have  no  doubt  is  the  fact.  By 
that  law  of  attraction  which  is  universal,  they  go  into 
the  society  to  which  their  characters  correspond.  They 
prefer  godless  company  here,  and  they  continue  to  prefer 
it  there.  They  are  in  their  own  element,  infernal  though 
it  is ;  and  heaven  would  be  to  them  a  worse  hell  than 
hell  itself.  And,  to  its  holy  inhabitants,  their  presence 
would  well-nigh  transform  heaven  into  hell.  Nay, 
friend,  it  is  not  possible,  in  the  nature  of  things,  for 
good  and  evil  to  dwell  together.  Is  it  strange,  then, 
that  God  should  separate  them?  " 

"  It  is  a  fearful  subject,"  said  Marion  musingly. 

"It  is  indeed;  but  our  dear  Redeemer  is  the  bright' 
side  of  it.  Suppose  the  tenderest  earthly  mother,  — 
you  have  such  an  one,  perhaps."  Marion  shook  her 
head.  "  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  glancing  with  sympathy 
at  her  mourning  apparel.  "  Suppose  such  a  loving 
mother  were  possessed  of  wisdom  and  energy  corre- 
sponding to  her  affection.  Now,  if  the  perversity  of  any 
of  her  children  should  lead  them  into  flagrant  vice,  and 
they  should  seek  out  the  lowest  society,  destroying  the 


196  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

purity  and  peace  of  their  pleasant  home,  and  thus  com- 
pelling their  mother  to  exclude  them  from  that  home, 
would  not  all  who  knew  the  facts,  acquit  her  of  unkind- 
ness  or  severity?  Surely  we  may  trust  our  heavenly 
Father  as  well." 

Marion  gave  no  answer  but  a  deep  sigh.  Was  she 
noting  the  difference  between  his  trusting  spirit,  and  the 
questioning,  if  not  rebellious  one  of  Maurice  ? 

"  My  father  died  many  years  since,"  resumed  the 
stranger  in  a  lower  tone,  "but  God  spared  me  my 
mother,  and  she  is  a  mother." 

"  I  have  neither  father  nor  mother,  brother  nor  sister," 
said  Marion  with  a  sudden  impulse,  while  the  tears 
rained  from  her  eyes. 

" '  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord 
pitieth  them  that  fear  him.' " 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  she  in  a  faltering  tone ;  "  but  my 
way  is  so  dark." 

" *  Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord ;  trust  also  in  him, 
and  he  will  bring  it  to  pass.'  " 

"  I  can  sometimes  trust  him,  but  again  I  am  afloat 
on  a  troubled  sea." 

Once  more  that  deep,  earnest  voice,  bearing  along 
words  which  fell  like  sweetest  music  on  her  bruised 
heart,  — 

" '  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present  help 
in  trouble.' " 

Again  that  rain  of  grief;  but  it  fell  more  gently  now, 
as  she  replied, — 

"  You  know  not  the  heavy  burden  that  is  laid  upon 
me,  nor  the  bitter  wrongs  with  which  I  have  to  con- 
tend." 

With  the  tenderest  sympathy,  he  still  quoted  from 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  197 

that  divine  Book,  so  wondrous  in  its  adaptation  to  every 
case  of  sorrow  and  distress. 

" '  I  will  cry  unto  God  Most  High,  unto  God  that  per- 
formeth  all  things  for  me.  He  shall  send  from  heaven 
and  save  me  from  the  reproach  of  him  that  would  swal- 
low me  up.' " 

Marion  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  he  knew  her  history  ?  Yet  how  could  he 
know  of  Mr.  Perley's  treatment?  He  could  not  help 
smiling  at  her  puzzled  air. 

"  I  am  no  diviner,  though  a  little  versed  in  reading 
the  human  heart." 

"  You  certainly  have  a  wonderful  skill  in  that  line, 
as  well  as  in  ministering  comfort.  If  not  a  diviner, 
therefore,  you  ought  to  be  a  minister." 

"  Which  I  have  the  honor  to  be ; "  and  handing  her  a 
card  from  his  pocket-book,  she  read,  — 

Rev.  HENRY  SUNDERLAND,  Carrisford,  N.  Y. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  she  exclaimed  with  pleasure.  "  It 
must  have  been  to  you,  then,  that  my  good  minister, 
Mr.  Morton,  sent  a  line  of  introduction  for  me  last 
week." 

"  I  was  out  of  town,  and  have  not  received  it.  Will 
you  not,  therefore,  introduce  yourself  ?  " 

In  a  few  words  Marion  related  all  she  thought  neces- 
sary. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  am  obliged  to  be  away  from  home 
several  weeks,  and  to  leave  directly.  My  mother  too 
is  absent.  But  when  we  return,  we  shall  hope  to  find 
you  here." 

They  were  now  entering  Carrisford,  and  Mr.  Sun- 
derland  named  the  best  hotel  in  the  place  to  Marion, 
10* 


198  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

recommending  her  to  remain  there  until  she  could 
make  permanent  arrangements.  Having  seen  her  safely 
landed,  he  committed  her  to  the  special  care  of  "  mine 
host ; "  and  warmly  shaking  hands,  they  parted.  It  was 
to  Marion  the  vanishing  of  a  bright  ray  of  sunshine, 
and  with  a  heavy  heart  she  retired  to  her  chamber.  But 
she  did  not  indulge  in  musing ;  for,  having  engaged  in 
the  real  battle  of  life,  she  felt  it  necessary  to  command 
her  own  spirit.  Enclosing  the  letter  of  commendation 
from  Mr.  Morton  in  a  note  from  herself,  she  sent  them 
to  the  Committee.  The  next  morning  she  received 
word  that  they  would  be  happy  to  see  her,  with  the 
other  applicants,  at  half  past  seven  that  evening,  in 
Oakley  Hall. 

It  was  a  clear  autumnal  day,  and  in  the  afternoon 
Marion  went  out  for  a  stroll.  Her  thoughts  flew  over 
the  blue  sea,  and  lingered  with  a  certain  wanderer  there. 
She  wished,  oh,  how  earnestly!  that  he  had  the  ster- 
ling religious  principle  of  her  new  acquaintance.  She 
admitted  the  wisdom  of  her  decision,  but  her  heart 
would  not  cease  to  ache  at  the  separation. 

Suddenly  a  glorious  picture  was  unrolled  to  her  view. 
A  dense  patch  of  forest  was  before  her,  its  foliage, 
lately  so  green,  now  melted  into  colors  of  the  richest 
beauty.  In  the  distance,  the  sleeping  hills  rose  like 
islands  in  the  sea,  while  a  purple  mist  hung  softly  over 
them.  Marion  entered  the  wood,  and,  seating  herself 
upon  a  mossy  knoll,  yielded  to  the  influences  around 
her. 

"  Nature  may  well  be  tired,"  she  soliloquized.  "  The 
throb  and  excitement  of  her  gay  blossoming  time  has 
exhausted  her  powers.  But  the  fever  of  her  bright 
summer  life  is  over,  and  now  she  folds  her  arms  in 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  190 

quiet  repose.  So  my  brief  summer  has  ended.  And 
why,  alas,  cannot  I  sit  down  in  the  tranquillity  of  res- 
ignation ?  The  monarchs  of  the  wood,  in  their  regal 
attire,  lift  up  their  hands  in  silent  adoration,  but  my 
heart  is  not  attuned  to  thanksgiving." 

Then  she  thought  of  her  father's  last  days  and  hours, 
so  full  of  delicate  kindness  and  affection ;  and  a  sweet 
analogy  was  suggested  by  the  scene  before  her.  As 
the  leaf  assumes  a  richer  beauty  in  the  hour  of  decay, 
s?o,  through  loving  eyes,  a  deeper  and  tenderer  light  looks 
out  from  the  soul  in  the  dying  hour.  Thought  travelled 
backwards.  The  old  clouds  were  gathering.  Like  a 
dark,  forbidding  background,  the  past  lay  behind  her. 
The  present  hung  about  her  as  an  oppressive  garment 
dragging  her  down  to  earth.  The  weird  future  was 
spread  out  mistily  before  her,  like  solemn  night,  wrap- 
ping in  its  bosom  untold  and  dreaded  revelations.  She 
longed  to  rise  above  the  one  fatal  remembrance  which 
so  clung  to  her,  —  above  all  that  could  clog  her  path, 
or  hinder  her  upward  progress ;  but  she  felt  powerless 
to  soar. 

Suddenly  the  still  air  seemed  stirred  as  by  a  seraph 
wing.  Ambrosial  odors  were  wafted  towards  her.  The 
dear  angel,  Faith,  drew  nigh,  and  in  a  voice  sweeter 
than  the  breath  of  summer,  spoke  softly  to  her  heart,  — 

"  Hast  thou  laid  thine  own  will  on  the  altar  1  Dost 
thou  not  shrink  from  endurance  and  sorrow  1 " 

Then  did  the  angel  speak  tenderly  to  her  of  the  love 
of  Christ,  who  wore  a  crown  of  thorns  to  win  for  her  a 
crown  of  glory  ;  who  bore  the  heavy  cross  that  she 
might  bear  the  palm  of  victory.  Why  should  she  hedge 
up  her  own  way,  and  make  so  difficult  what  God  had 
made  so  easy  1  Why,  in  her  weakness,  should  she 


200  MARION  GRAHAM; 

attempt  the  battle,  when,  if  she  would  but  place  her 
hand  within  her  Saviour's,  he  would  fight  and  conquer 
for  her. 

Beautiful  was  the  face  of  the  angel  as  he  thus 
pleaded.  And  the  wild  throbbings  in  Marion's  heart 
were  hushed,  as  her  whole  soul  was  concentrated  in  a 
petition  expressed  in  one  of  her  favorite  hymns  :  — 

"  A  rose-cloud,  dimly  seen  above, 

Melting  in  heaven's  blue  depths  away,  — 

0  sweet,  fond  dream  of  human  Love, 
For  thee  I  dare  not  pray. 

"  But  bowed  in  lowliness  of  mind, 

I  make  my  humble  wishes  known  — 

1  only  ask  a  will  resigned, 

0  Father,  to  thine  own  ! 

"  To-day  beneath  thy  chastening  eye, 

1  crave  alone  for  peace  and  rest, 
Submissive  in  thy  hand  to  lie, 

And  feel  that  it  is  best." 

As  she  earnestly  repeated  these  lines,  a  ray  of  celestial 
light  shone  upon  her.  Her  soul,  weary  of  its  vain  strug- 
gles, and  despairing  of  help  in  itself,  ceased  from  all 
efforts  in  its  own  strength.  In  that  silent  temple  of 
nature,  in  the  still  depths  of  her  heart,  she  surrendered 
herself  as  a  weary  child  into  the  hands  of  her  kind  and 
Almighty  Father.  Then  a  whisper  stole  upon  her. 

"  My  peace  I  give  unto  you,  not  as  the  world  giveth, 
give  I  unto  you.  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither 
let  it  be  afraid." 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  201 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"  We  are  daily  cast 
Into  the  future,  out  of  the  past,  — 
Through  the  sunshine  into  the  night,  — 
Through  the  darkness  into  the  light. 
Thus  we  whirl  in  the  noiseless  stream, 
And  the  sky  glides  over  us  like  a  dream." 

AT  the  appointed  time,  Mr.  Gretson,  her  landlord, 
attended  Marion  to  the  Hall,  promising  to  call  for  her 
in  an  hour.  She  had  lived  so  independent  a  life,  that 
an  ordeal  like  that  now  before  her  was  no  insignificant 
affair.  Although  self-possessed,  her  native  loftiness 
and  acute  sensibility  exposed  her  to  peculiar  suffering 
from  contact  with  the  world.  Then,  her  single  experi- 
ence in  this  line  had  sorely  chafed  her.  But  dread  it 
as  she  might,  there  was  no  vacillation  of  purpose.  So 
she  quietly  seated  herself  among  her  fellow-applicants, 
and  endeavored  to  think  of  indifferent  things. 

When  the  chairman  began  his  questioning,  she  looked 
up  in  surprise,  for  that  bland  voice  was  familiar  to 
her  ears.  Meeting  the  eye  of  Mr.  Perley,  she  was  for  a 
moment  agitated.  But,  with  the  most  considerate  re- 
gard, as  she  admitted  to  herself,  he  allowed  her  some 
time  to  recover  her  composure ;  so  that,  when  he  came 
to  ask  her  questions,  she  was  able  to  answer  them  with 
entire  calmness.  The  trial  being  ended,  he  rose,  and, 
in  the  most  gentlemanly  manner,  announced  that  Miss 
Graham  was  the  successful  applicant. 


202  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

A  few  days  after  her  term  had  commenced,  Mr. 
Johnson  called  to  inquire  if  she  would  not  prefer  a  more 
quiet  boarding  place.  When  she  gladly  assented,  he 
told  her  that  there  was  a  Mrs.  Carson,  a  widow,  who 
had  recently  removed  to  a  pleasant  cottage  about  half 
a  mile  out  of  the  village,  and  would  be  glad  to  take  a 
boarder. 

The  next  day  Marion  called ;  and,  being  every  way 
pleased  with  the  situation,  removed  there  at  once. 
Mrs.  Carson  was  a  kind-hearted  woman,  and  took  great 
pains  to  accommodate  her. 

"  I  have  seen  hard  times,  Miss  Graham,"  said  she, 
"  and  it  is  not  long  since  I  and  my  boy  were  suffering 
from  actual  want.  But  a  kind  friend  was  raised  up, 
who  has  given  me  the  use  of  this  beautiful  cottage,  all 
furnished  and  supplied  with  provisions.  He  has  also 
sent  my  boy  away  to  learn  a  trade.  He  often  runs  in 
and  takes  a  cup  of  tea  with  me." 

"  And  what  is  the  name  of  this  noble  friend  ?  " 

"  He  has  charged  me  over  and  over  again  never  to 
speak  of  his  generosity,  but  I  can't  help  it.  Besides 
you  will  see  him  here.  His  name  is  Mr.  Perley." 

Always  alive  to  generous  deeds,  Marion  said  to  her- 
self,— 

"  Probably  it  is  the  same  man.  And  this  is  not  the 
first  time  I  have  heard  of  his  liberality." 

By  a  natural  process,  in  her  fear  of  having  done  him 
injustice,  she  was  liable  to  go  to  the  opposite  extreme, 
and  to  be  too  credulous  of  good  concerning  him. 

Not  many  days  after,  Mr.  Perley  made  his  appear- 
ance bringing  a  basket  of  fruit.  Mr*.  Carson  was  all 
bustle,  for  he  was  to  take  tea  with  them,  and  nothing 
could  be  too  good  for  his  repast.  While  she  was  mak- 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  203 

ing  preparations,  Marion  was  left  to  entertain  the  guest, 
which  she  did  with  less  embarrassment  than  she  could 
have  anticipated.  He  was  in  a  desponding  mood,  and 
apparently  found  it  difficult  to  converse.  After  a  mo- 
ment's silence,  he  told  Marion  that  his  ungentlemanly 
conduct  and  his  passionate  language  to  her  continued 
to  prey  painfully  upon  his  spirits. 

"And  I  fear,"  said  he,  "that  you  never  can  cordially 
forgive  me,  and  confide  in  me  again." 

"  If  your  regret  for  your  hasty  conduct  is  sincere,  as  I 
cannot  doubt,  I  beg  you  to  believe  what  I  have  already 
said,  that  I  do  most  freely  and  fully  forgive  you." 

"And  dare  I  hope  that  I  can  ever  regain  your  confi- 
dence ?  " 

She  hesitated,  and  then  replied,  "  My  distrust  is 
greatly  lessened ;  but  if  it  should  not  pass  away  at 
once,  I  trust  you  will  not  censure  me." 

"  I  expect  this,  Miss  Graham,  and  will  patiently  bear 
the  penalty,  till  I  have  power  wholly  to  remove  it,  as  I 
feel  assured  that  I  shall,  sooner  or  later,  be  able  to  do." 

He  then  proceeded  to  tell  her  that  his  conscience  had 
of  late  been  urging  him  no  longer  to  neglect  the  sub- 
ject of  religion. 

"  But,"  added  he,  "  it  is  very  difficult  to  change  one's 
course  of  life.  And  besides,  I  am  sadly  ignorant  on 
this  whole  subject,  and  hardly  know  where  or  how  to 
begin." 

"  Cannot  you  talk  with  some  minister,  who  could 
advise  you  ?  " 

"  The  only  minister  I  know,  in  whom  I  should  have 
any  disposition  to  confide  —  I  mean  Mr.  Sunderland  — 
is  unfortunately  absent" 

"And  have  you  no  friend  to  whom  you  can  open 
your  heart  ?  " 


204  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  for  it  pronounces  judgment 
against  my  former  life  ;  but  in  the  wide  world  I  have 
not  one  religious  friend,  —  unless  Miss  Graham  will 
allow  me  to  consider  her  in  that  light." 

"  If  in  any  way  I  could  do  you  service,  I  should  be 
glad  to  be  your  friend.  But  I  feel  my  own  unfitness  to 
counsel  you  in  so  important  a  matter." 

"  You  know  so  much  that  is  bad  in  me,  that  I  should 
be  sure  of  your  faithfulness  in  rebuke.  Perhaps  you 
will  at  least  recommend  some  suitable  reading,"  added 
he  with  apparent  timidity. 

Mrs.  Carson  now  appeared,  piling  up  the  table  with 
good  things.  Mr.  Perley  seemed  to  exert  himself  to  be 
agreeable,  but  occasionally  relapsed  into  silence,  con- 
firming Marion  in  her  impression  of  his  sincerity.  After 
tea  she  brought  out  a  few  books. 

"  I  will  take  one  of  them,  if  you  please,  and  if  I 
derive  any  advantage  from  it,  I  will  exchange  it  for 
another." 

He  soon  withdrew,  leaving  Marion  with  an  altered 
opinion  of  him,  which  he  could  not  fail  to  read  on  her 
open  face.  She  did  not  see  his  singular  expression  as 
he  turned  from  the  cottage.  She  did  not  hear  his  ex- 
ulting chuckle  as  he  said  to  himself,  — 

"  It  was  an  extravagant  scheme,  but  I  believe  it  is 
going  to  pay.  She's  a  fool  for  her  credulous  efforts  to 
convert  me  —  me  indeed  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha !  Well,  she's  a 
divine  creature  anyhow,  and  mine  she  is  fated  to  be." 

And  his  face  glowed  with  demoniacal  exultation. 
Alas !  the  fowler  hath  well  laid  his  snare,  and  her  in- 
cautious feet  will  surely  be  entangled 


OR.    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  205 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 

"  It  was  no  path  of  flowers, 

Through  this  dark  world  of  ours, 
Beloved  of  the  Father,  thou  didst  tread; 

And  shall  we  in  dismay, 

Shrink  from  the  narrow  way, 
When  clouds  and  darkness  are  around  it  spread  !  " 

ON  returning  one  day  from  school,  a  letter  was 
handed  Marion,  mailed  from  Glenwood,  but  with  a  for- 
eign post-mark.  The  sight  of  it  sent  the  quick  blood 
to  her  face,  and  her  whole  frame  trembled  as  she  read. 

"  Although,  Miss  Graham,  I  have  no  leave  to  ad- 
dress you,  yet  I  believe  you  will  find  in  your  own  heart 
an  excuse  for  me.  When  I  left  Glenwood  I  did  not 
ask  for  such  permission,  because  I  did  not  wish  for  it 
I  resolved  to  put  the  ocean  between  us,  and  to  banish 
your  image  from  my  heart.  In  the  latter  I  have  failed. 
Shall  we  correspond?  I  pledge  myself  to  keep  my 
pages  free,  both  from  the  words  and  the  sentiments  of 
Jove.  But,  on  certain  other  subjects,  I  long  to  open 
my  heart.  If  I  write,  it  will  be  without  varnish  or 
gilding.  You  shall  at  least  give  me  credit  for  honesty. 

I  am  in  London.  In  this  solitude  more  profound 
than  that  of  a  desert,  I  am  striving  to  while  away  a 
few  weeks.  And  now  shall  I  talk  to  you  of  the  Tower, 
of  Cheapside,  of  Charing  Cross,  of  the  immortal  West- 


206  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

minster  Abbey,  and  of  all  the  wondrous  sights  and 
scenes  of  this  wonderful  city  ?  Or  shall  I  tell  you  of 
my  poor  self? 

This  morning  I  was  waked  by  the  cry,  — 

'  One  a  penny,  two  a  penny  —  hot-cross  bunns.' 

How  it  carried  me  back  to  my  innocent  childhood, 
when  I  read  '  London  Cries '  from  the  pictured  book, 
and  wondered  if  there  was  really  such  a  place  as  Lon- 
don! Shall  I  confess  that  I  dropped  a  tear  over  this 
simple  reminiscence  ? 

Last  Sunday,  I  went  to  hear  the  famous  preacher 
G .  It  was  a  strange  scene.  His  nervous,  vehe- 
ment eloquence,  his  awkward  but  impassioned  gestures, 
and  the  burning  torrent  which  flowed  from  his  lips, 
amused  and  sometimes  interested,  but  did  not  stir  me. 
Because  he  was  a  fanatic,  his  earnestness  had  no  effect 
but  to  excite  my  wonder  or  pity.  He  talked  of  an  im- 
pending judgment  as  if  the  trumpet  were  already 
sounding  in  his  ears ;  and  the  crowd  who  hung  upon 
his  lips  listened,  horror-stricken,  as  if  they  heard  it  too. 

I  am  too  proud,  or  too  stoical,  to  be  thus  moved  ; 
and  therefore  I  hear  the  greatest  preachers,  on  the  most 
exciting  themes,  as  if  I  were  an  icicle.  R de- 
lights me  by  the  depth  of  his  thoughts  and  the  affluence 
of  his  style,  but  I  am  as  unmoved  by  his  eloquence  as 
by  the  fables  of  the  ancients.  You  will  undoubtedly 
set  this  down  against  me,  but  I  am  at  the  confessional. 

Let  me,  however,  turn  to  a  different  subject.  Yes- 
terday, as  I  was  walking  through  the  streets,  a  little 
girl  accosted  me,  — 

'  Please  sir,  do  buy  my  flowers.' 

Her  earnest  tone  attracted  my  attention,  and  as  I 
looked  into  her  large  blue  eyes,  I  saw  they  were  filled 


OR,    II1CIIKK    TIFAX    HAPPINESS.  •>(}' 

with  tears.  Through  her  rags  and  poverty-stricken 
aspect,  was  an  air  of  neatness  and  refinement  for  which 
I  could  not  account. 

'  What  is  your  name  ?  ' 

'  Alice  Green,  sir,'  and  she  held  up  her  little  bouquet 
temptingly  before  me.  '  See  how  beautiful ! ' 

'  Where  did  you  get  this,  Alice  ?  ' 

'  A  flower-woman  gives  me  a  bunch  every  day,  and  I 
sell  them.' 

<  But  don't  you  like  the  flowers  ? ' 

'  Sir?'  and  she  looked  so  wonder ingly,  that  I  con- 
tinued, — 

'  Why  do  you  seU  them  ? ' 

'  Because  dear  mamma  is  sick,  and  we  haven't  any 
thing  to  eat,'  she  replied  with  a  most  wistful  expression. 
'  Please  buy  them,  sir,  if  you  have  any  money.' 

I  gave  her  a  silver  piece,  and  taking  the  flowers  se- 
lected the  one  I  enclose,  and,  returning  the  rest,  said,  — 

'  Now  Alice,  you  must  take  these  home  to  your 
mother.' 

She  looked  first  at  the  silver  coin  in  her  hand,  and 
then  at  me  so  inquiringly,  that  I  added,  — 

'  Of  course  you  are  to  keep  that  for  bread.' 

'  O  sir !  I  thank  you  so  much.  Mamma  said  God 
would  hear  our  cries.  And  now  I  can  buy  something 
very  nice  for  her.' 

For  some  reason,  I  was  strangely  attracted  towards 
the  child,  so  I  said,  — 

*  Would  you  like  to  have  me  go  home  with  you  ? ' 

'  It  would  make  mamma  very  happy.' 

I  took  the  small,  thin  hand  of  the  little  flower-girl, 
and,  calling  on  the  way  to  get  a  few  things  that  we 
consider  necessaries,  but  that  they,  it  seems,  regard  as 


208  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

luxuries,  I  had  them  nicely  packed  in  a  basket.  Then, 
taking  it  on  my  arm,  we  trudged  along,  little  Alice 
chatting  all  the  time  of  their  former  pleasant  home  in 
the  country,  and  the  lovely  roses  that  grew  there.  She 
soon  led  me  into  one  of  those  wicked  streets  that  seem 
unfit  for  the  steps  of  a  pure  child,  and,  climbing  rapidly 
up  a  steep  flight  of  stairs,  she  hastened  into  a  dark,  dis- 
mal closet  of  a  room,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  her 
mother's  neck,  held  up  the  flowers,  crying  out, — 

'  O  mamma,  he  is  so  good.' 

The  pale,  consumptive  face  was  lighted  up,  and,  a 
stool  being  handed  me,  I  entered  into  conversation  with 
the  woman.  Sending  Alice  of  an  errand,  she  told  me 
her  sad  history.  It  was  the  common  tale  of  youthful 
love,  of  blind  credulity,  of  temptation,  and  sin,  and 
misery,  followed  by  bitter  repentance.  Cast  out  by  her 
proud  father,  she  had  found  a  home  in  the  country, 
where  she  had  gained  a  living  for  herself  and  Alice  by 
embroidery.  Thinking  she  should  succeed  better  in  the 
city,  she  came  to  London  where  her  health  had  gradu- 
ally failed.  Then,  the  ladies  who  employed  her  were 
always  deferring  payment,  and  the  result  was  that  she 
and  her  child  had  been  near  starvation.  But  there  was 
a  quiet  resignation  in  her  face  that  touched  me,  and. 
Miss  Graham,  she  talked  of  that  Saviour  whom  you 
love.  And  taking  me  for  a  minister,  she  begged  me  to 
pray  with  her.  I  will  own  I  was  tempted  to  allow  her 
delusion,  and  it  required  some  courage  to  say,  — 

4 1  am  neither  a  minister  nor  a  Christian.'  I  added,  — 
'  But  I  will  be  a  friend  to  you  for  all  that,  if  for  nothing 
else,  because  I  have  a  friend  across  the  waters  who 
loves  the  same  Saviour.' 

Her  look  of  sorrow,  as  she  clasped  her  hands  in  seem- 


OR,    Hit; HER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  209 

ing  intercession  for  me,  somewhat  moved  my  hard  heart, 
I  must  confess.  But  Alice  returned,  and  I  took  my 
leave  hoping  to  arrange  matters  for  their  greater  com- 
J'ort. 

You  kno\v  me  too  well  to  give  me  the  credit  for  be- 
nevolence that  this  woman  did.  I  am  worn  with  ennui, 
and  a  sensation  of  any  kind  is  refreshing;  therefore  I  am 
her  debtor.  But  how  do  you  explain  the  fact  that  God 
should  leave  such  a  woman  to  so  bitter  suffering?  And 
her  innocent  child —  how  has  she  merited  her  hard  lot  ? 
The  world. alas, is  filled  with  just  such  cases. 

As  I  am  writing  now,  at  midnight,  I  can  hear  the 
loud  heart-beats  of  this  great  city.  London  has  no 
sleep,  for  vice  and  want  and  misery  never  close  their 
eyes.  Groans  and  curses  send  up  a  ceaseless  voice. 
But  does  the  wail  of  earth  pierce  the  crystal  spheres  ? 
You  say  that  above  there  is  an  eye  that  sees,  an  ear 
that  hears,  and  a  heart  that  feels.  Yet  not  a  hand  is 
moved  for  earth's  relief.  You  believe  there  is  a  Being 
of  infinite  power  and  love  sitting  at  the  helm  of  the 
universe.  Thus  cannot  I. 

But  I  have  taxed  your  patience  long  enough.  Keep 
this  flower  for  the  sake  of  little  Alice,  whom  you  would 
surely  love. 

MAURICE  VINTON." 

Many  and  mingled  were  the  emotions  which  this  letter 
excited,  and  more  than  one  shower  of  sorrow  did  it  occa- 
sion Marion.  Unconsciously  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips, 
\vhile  she  blessed  the  writer  for  his  kindness  to  the  desolate 
mother  and  child.  And  then  her  heart  ascended  to 
Heaven  in  earnest  entreaties  that  the  light  of  truth  might 
shine  into  that  troubled  mind.  After  long  pondering 


210  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

the  request  for  a  correspondence,  she  concluded  that 
duty  was  in  full  accordance  with  her  inclination.  Who 
could  say  that  providence  might  not  bless  her  as  the  in- 
strument of  leading  Maurice  into  the  truth? 

Striving  to  lay  aside  every  thought  that  had  so  moved 
her,  she  sat  down  to  write,  with  the  earnest  desire  of 
dispelling  some  of  the  many  shadows  that  lay  in  his 
path,  by  persuading  him  to  a  simple  trust,  instead  of  a 
restless  unbelief.  Telling  him  in  a  few  words  of  the 
changes  which  had  crowded  upon  her,  and  of  her  pres- 
ent position,  she  continued,  — 

"  This  is  a  charming  Indian  summer's  day,  and  I  have 
just  returned  from  a  stroll  in  the  woods.  The  trees,  so 
lately  draped  in  the  gold  and  crimson  of  autumn, 
stretched  out  their  almost  leafless  arms  as  if  to  embrace 
the  bright  rays  dancing  lovingly  around  them.  The  air 
was  tremulous  with  its  burden  of  purple  light ;  which  it 
poured  in  rich  floods  and  with  indiscriminate  kindness 
upon  every  thing.  The  birds  paused  in  their  southern 
flight,  and  sang  as  if  they  thought  it  their  last  chance. 
Judging  by  their  music,  one  would  say  they  knew  there 
was  a  God,  and  that  his  name  was  Love.  Strange 
that  our  human  hearts  should  be  so  much  slower  in 
rendering  up  their  tribute !  And  why  should  it  not  be 
with  us  as  with  these  happy  songsters,  but  that  sin  has 
debased  the  intellect  and  corrupted  the  heart  ?  Ah,  Mr. 
Vinton,  you  cannot  help  agreeing  with  me  here.  Is  it 
not  this  that  obscures  the  brightness  of  noon-dny  ? 

4  Who  feels  no  inward  beauty,  none  perceives, 
Though  all  around  is  beautiful ! ' 

What  you  say  of  life  is  true ;  but  is  it  ah1  that  can  be 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  211 

said  ?  The  destroyer  has  indeed  swept  over  the  earth, 
but  the  Redeemer  has  also  been  here,  and  his  footsteps 
have  blessed  its  tear-watered  soil.  As  the  consequence 
of  this,  hope  has  returned,  love  has  lighted  many  an 
eye,  and  faith  bound  up  not  a  few  broken  hearts.  Earth 
is  brighter  for  his  advent,  and  the  gates  of  the  Celestial 
City  have  been  flung  wide  open.  Is  it  true,  then,  that 
no  hand  has  been  moved  for  earth's  relief  ?  You  surely 
do  not  discredit  the  divine  mission  of  Jesus.  And  can 
it  be  that  a  mind  so  attuned  to  beauty,  should  see  noth- 
ing to  attract  it  in  the  winning  excellence,  the  transcen- 
dent grandeur  of  such  a  character  ?  But  I  did  not  intend 
to  preach.  With  the  deepest  sympathy  in  your  sad- 
ness, I  would  only  venture  to  point  out  the  star  of  Beth- 
lehem. That  will  guide  you. 

If  I  have  not  yet  spoken  of  Alice  and  her  mother, 
it  is  from  no  lack  of  interest.  He  who  '  tempers  the 
wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,'  will  surely  take  care  of  them. 
He  is  even  now  doing  it  through  your  kind  attentions. 
The  minutest  event  of  their  life  is  ordered  by  a  watch- 
ful providence,  and,  for  the  rough  winds  of  adversity, 
there  shall  be  richer  fruit.  The  trust  of  that  forsaken 
mother  is  in  God.  Have  you  less  reason  than  she  for 
such  a  reliance  ? 

I  am  sure  you  will  excuse  my  plainness.  If  I  write 
to  you,  it  must  be  with  entire  sincerity.  That  your 
will  may  be  brought  into  harmony  with  the  will  of  our 
great  Father,  is  the  earnest  prayer  of 

MARION  GRAHAM." 

Among  her  many  pupils,  in  ah1  of  whom  she  felt  a 
genuine  interest,  there  was  one  to  whom  Marion  was 
peculiarly  attracted.  Lenora  Benson  was  the  only 


212  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

child  of  wealthy  parents  in  the  city  of  New  York.  She 
had  been  sent  to  an  uncle's  in  Carrisford,  partly  for  tru; 
advantages  of  country  life,  and  partly  to  attend  to  cer- 
tain English  branches  of  study.  She  was  such  a  genuine 
child  of  nature,  and  so  hated  all  mere  forms  and  conven- 
tionalisms, that  she  would  never  have  been  taken  for  a 
city  girl.  Enthusiastic  and  impulsive  in  the  last  degree, 
yet  her  impulses  were  generally  of  the  noble,  unselfish 
sort.  She  had  a  good  quantity  of  pride,  rebelling  with 
vigor  and  pertinacity  against  all  authority.  If  you  un- 
dertook to  drive  her,  you  would  wish  in  the  end,  that 
you  had  not  placed  yourself  at  such  disadvantage  ;  for 
the  harder  you  drove,  the  less  would  she  move  one 
single  step.  But  then,  as  a  compensation,  you  could 
lead  her  anywhere,  if  you  only  knew  how.  She  was 
strong  in  her  prejudices,  regarding  with  inveterate  scorn 
all  characters  that  had  an  iota  of  duplicity  or  meanness 
cleaving  to  them. 

She  caused  Marion  more  anxiety  than  all  the  rest  of 
her  scholars,  yet  she  loved  her  better  than  all.  For  her 
part,  Lenora,  who  had  always  entered  every  school  pre- 
pared to  contend  for  her  rights,  as  she  termed  them,  and 
who  was  particularly  determined  on  this  in  the  present 
instance,  had,  notwithstanding,  come  to  cherish  a  bound- 
less affection  for  Marion.  Feeling,  as  she  honestly  did, 
That  there  was  no  sacrifice  she  would  not  make  for 
her  teacher,  she  had  little  idea  of  the  solicitude  she 
occasioned  her.  Her  inexperience,  together  with  an 
excessive  frankness,  made  her  sometimes  appear  blunt 
and  inconsiderate,  yet  she  was  by  no  means  without 
delicacy.  With  her,  almost  every  thing  depended  upon 
the  circumstances  which  should  complete  the  formation 
of  her  character. 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  213 

She  was  on  terms  of  freer  intercourse  with  Marion 
than  any  of  her  fellow-pupils.  And  though  her  out- 
spoken manner  was  sometimes  displeasing,  ye;  she  had 
so  much  heart,  that  it  was  almost  impossible  for  one 
whom  she  loved  to  be  seriously  offended,  with  her. 

"  How  can  you  like  such  a  stupid  business  as  teach- 
ing, Miss  Graham?" 

"  The  question,  dear  Lenora,  is  not  one  of  fancy.  I 
do  not  teach  because  I  like  to  teach,  though  I  may  like 
the  business  notwithstanding.  But  I  teach  from  a 
sense  of  duty." 

"  That  is  stupider  yet.  If  there  is  any  word  in  the 
English  language  that  I  perfectly  loathe,  it  is  that  same 
high-sounding  word  —  duty.  Why,  you  can  hardly  read 
a  book  that  is  not  filled  with  its  iron  enactments,  which 
sink  like  lead  into  the  spirits.  It  is  a  veritable  Jugger- 
naut, crushing  every  flower  of  the  heart  over  which  its 
ponderous  wheels  get  a  chance  to  roll.  For  my  parr,  I 
think  most  people  who  use  the  word  are  nothing  but 
hypocrites.  I  can  do  any  thing  for  love,  but  I  never 
will  be  governed  by  ugly,  icy  duty." 

"Do  you  think  me  a  hypocrite?"  asked  Marion, 
smiling  at  her  vehement  tirade. 

"  You  ?  why,  no  indeed !  how  could  I  think  so  ?  " 
and  she  opened  her  eyes  wide  upon  her  teacher. 

"  Your  words  certainly  implied  it." 

"  Forgive  me,  you  dear  piece  of  perfection."  And 
she  threw  her  arms  around  her.  "  Why  didn't  you  box 
my  ears  ?  " 

"  What  good  would  it  have  done  ?  "  replied  Marion, 
pressing  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 

"  Not  much,  I  suppose,  to  either  of  us.  Well,  if  you 
have  forgiven  my  impertinence,  do  promise'  me  that  you 


214  MARION  GRAHAM; 

will  forswear  that  hated  word  henceforth  and  forever- 
more." 

"  What  was  it  that  induced  you  to  ask  my  forgive- 
ness just  now?"  said  Marion,  looking  archly  into  the 
clear  eyes  of  her  young  friend. 

"  Never  a  bit  of  duty,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  It 
was  impulse,  affection,  because  I  couldn't  help  it.  But 
there's  another  point  where  we  differ.  And  now  that 
my  boldness  has  risen  to  fever-heat,  I  think  I  had 
better  out  with  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Marion,  waiting  for  her  to  pro- 
ceed. 

"  You'll  be  vexed  with  me,  but  I  can't  help  it.  There's 
something  that  I  dislike,  if  possible,  more  than  your 
detestable  '  duty ; '  and  that  is  that  soulless  thing,  your 
chief  friend  and  admirer,  ycleped  Perley.  I  perfectly 
despise  him  from  the  tip-top  of  his  unctuous  locks,  down 
to  the  very  bottom  of  his  shining  patent  boots.  Now 
don't  shake  your  head  and  look  so  grave.  I  have  been 
pondering  on  the  subject,  and  I  am  determined  to  have 
my  say  out.  I  consider  it  my  bounden  duty  so  to  do ; 
and  of  course  you  won't  interfere.  He,  too,  is  one  of 
those  everlastingly  prating  about  duty,  duty,  duty.  He 
is  nothing  but  a  concocted  piece  of  French  tailoring 
and  native  dandyism,  perfumed  with  essences  and 
tipped  off  with  jewelry." 

"Mr.  Perley  is  far  from  agreeable  to  me.  But  I 
believe  he  sincerely  regrets  his  past  life,  and  is  striv- 
ing to  reform.  And  if  I  can  encourage  him  in  this,  I 
consider  it  my  duty  to  do  so." 

"  So  I  suppose  if  the  sly  scamp  should  ask  you  to 
marry  him  as  a  means  of  promoting  his  reformation, 
you  would,  forsooth,  consider  it  your  duty  to  comply 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  215 

with  his  modest  request,  even  if  it  should  break  your 
heart,  which  I  verily  believe  would  be  the  result." 

The  blood  suffused  Marion's  face  and  neck,  as,  with 
some  sternness,  she  replied,  — 

"  Lenora,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  being  thus  ad- 
dressed. You  presume  on  my  affection  to  take  offen- 
sive liberties." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  vexed,"  said  Lenora  some- 
what haughtily.  "  But  when  I  hear  the  whole  town 
talking  about  Mr.  Perley's  attentions  and  their  probable 
issue,  I  can't  keep  cool ;  and  so  I  determined  to  brave 
your  anger.  It  was  only  last  evening,  that  my  aunt 
told  me,  that  Mrs.  Ayer  told  her,  that  Hetty  Langdon 
told  her,  that  widow  Carson  told  her,  that  she  '  consid- 
ered it,  she  might  say,  a  settled  affair  between  you.' 
And,  through  this  long  round  of  tellings,  it  comes  out 
that  he  sends  you  hot-house  flowers  and  fruits ;  and 
what  long  talks  you  have  together  ;  and  how  you  are 
only  waiting  to  make  a  Christian  of  him,  and  then  you 
will  certainly  marry  him.  I  hate  such  tattling ;  and  I 
was  so  thoroughly  vexed  with  the  whole  set  of  gossips 
that  I  could  scarcely  sleep.  And  so  I  resolved  to  stay 
at  school  this  noon  with  you  and  let  it  all  out.  But 
precious  little  is  the  good  it  will  do.  I  wish  Mr.  Sun- 
derland  was  at  home,  for  he  can  read  characters,  and  he 
would'nt  hesitate  a  minute  to  give  you  his  opinion  of 
your  paragon.  I  declare,  if  you  should  do  such  a  pre- 
posterous thing  a.s  to  marry  that  detestable  coxcomb 
and  hypocrite,  I  should  never,  never  again  have  faith  in 
any  human  being." 

"  I,  too,  wish  Mr.  Sundcrland  was  here,  for  I  could 
rely  on  his  counsel.  But  I  will  strive  to  do  right,  and 
trust  in  Providence  for  the  result." 


216  .MAKIOX    GltAHAM: 

In  spite  of  her  reasoning,  however,  she  was  not  quite 
satisfied  with  herself.  She  began  to  fear  that  she  had, 
after  all,  been  a  little  credulous,  as  well  as  too  thought- 
less concerning  public  rumor.  And  she  resolved  that,  at 
the  very  first  advances  on  Mr.  Perley's  part,  all  particu- 
lar intercourse  should  cease. 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  21' 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

"WHp.'t  we  sob  aloud,  the  banian  creatures  near  us, 

Pass  by,  hearing  not,  or  answer  not  a  word ! 
Is  it  likely  God,  with  angels  singing  round  Him, 
Hears  our  weeping  any  more  V  " 

FOR  two  or  three  days,  snow-clouds  had  been  scud- 
ding over  the  face  of  the  sky,  while  the  air  was  filled 
with  dampness  and  chills.  On  Thursday  morning, 
(''Very  appearance  betokened  a  serious  snow-storm. 

"  You  will  not  think  of  going  to-day,"  said  Marion  to 
Mrs.  Carson  as  they  stood  together  at  the  window. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  promised ;  but  Alfred  will  ride  out  a 
mile  for  me,  and  will  be  greatly  disappointed  if  I  don't 
come.  You  don't  feel  troubled  on  your  own  account?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,  especially  as  you  will  be  back  to- 
night. I  have  a  great  relish  for  a  quiet  snow-storm." 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  the  wind  rose,  and  so 
drifted  the  snow,  that  it  was  with  much  difficulty  Ma- 
rion reached  the  cottage.  School  for  the  day  had  been 
dismissed,  for  a  genuine,  driving  storrn  had  evidently  set 
in.  So  Marion  sat  alone  in  her  cozy  corner  in  the  par- 
lor, sewing  and  reading  and  writing.  Sometimes  she 
would  stand  at  the  window  and  watch  the  tiny  whirl 
winds  of  sleet,  occasioned  by  the  sudden  gusts  of  wind. 

"  Even  thus,"  she  said,  "  am  I  driven  round  and 
round  without  any  will  of  my  own.  I  seem  to  myself 
like  a  seared  leaf  that  has  outli ved  its  time."  And,  with 


218  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

a  comfortless  feeling,  she  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand 
and  gazed  into  the  glowing  fire. 

"  Mrs.  Carson  will  never  think  of  coming  back  to- 
night. I  wish  I  had  brought  Lenora  home,  for  it  will 
be  terribly  gloomy  here  alone." 

Night  early  let  fall  her  curtains ;  auci,  following  her 
example,  Marion  lighted  the  lamps  and  sat  down  for 
the  evening.  She  could  interest  herself  in  nothing  ;  so 
she  listened  to  the  fitful  moaning  of  the  restless  wind. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  evil  spirits  were  riding  on 
the  blasts,  and  filling  the  air  with  their  infernal  shrieks. 
Every  slow-footed  moment  added  to  her  gloom,  and  to 
her  irrepressible  longings  for  the  sight  of  some  familiar 
face.  Suddenly,  she  heard  the  outside  door  opened 
and  shut,  then  a  loud  stamping  in  the  hall,  foF 
lowed  by  a  gentle  tap  at  the  parlor  door.  Opening  it 
with  some  trepidation,  Mr.  Perley  greeted  her  with  a 
low  bow  and  his  blandest  expression. 

"  I  knew  Mrs.  Carson  would  never  return  in  this 
storm,"  said  he  in  a  respectful  tone,  "  and  though  it  is 
no  light  undertaking  to  get  abroad  to-night,  I  felt  that  I 
ought  to  come  in  for  an  hour,  and  try  to  cheer  your 
loneliness." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  trouble  you  have  taken,"  replied 
Marion,  trying  to  appear  at  her  ease. 

"  Shall  I  read  to  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  please." 

He  read  some  extracts  from  newspapers  he  had 
brought  with  him,  and  was  so  evidently  intent  on  inter- 
esting her,  that  gradually  she  regained  composure.  She 
was  sitting  by  the  fire  on  a  lounge,  with  the  work-table 
before  her,  while  he  sat  opposite  in  an  arm-chair. 

"Ah!  I  have  happened  upon  something  here,  which 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  21 !» 

may  interest  you  as  a  friend,  but  which  I  do  not  like  to 
read  myself,"  said  he,  taking  a  seat  beside  her,  and 
pointing  out  a  paragraph  in  the  paper.  It  was  the 
notice  of  a  large  donation  which  he  had  given  to  a 
poor  church  in  a  distant  town ;  and,  as  Marion  read  it, 
her  face  glowed  with  pleasure. 

"  You  will  not,  I  trust,  charge  me  with  vanity  for 
seeking  your  approbation." 

"  The  approval  of  one's  own  conscience  is  the  best 
earthly  reward  for  doing  good." 

"  Not  for  me  exactly.  You  must  remember  that  my 
purposes  are  weak,  and  need  encouragement.  If  there 
is  a  little  good  in  me,  as  I  hope,  it  is,  in  some  sense, 
but  the  reflection  of  your  goodness." 

"  But  without  a  radical  change  of  heart,  of  what  avail 
is  all  outward  reformation  ?  " 

"  Of  none,  certainly.  But  I  did  not  mean  to  deny 
that  I  have  a  degree  of  confidence  in  myself.  I  only 
meant  that,  under  God,  my  present  hopeful  state  is 
entirely  owing  to  your  kind  and  persevering  influence, 
and  that  a  withdrawal  of  your  interest  would  be  most 
unfortunate  for  me." 

"  I  am  glad  to  encourage  good  in  any  one,  but  am 
sorry  to  have  you  place  the  smallest  dependence  on  me." 

"  Such  a  regret  is  too  late,"  said  he,  looking  at  her 
with  an  expression  she  could  not  fail  to  understand. 
"  You  have  taught  me  to  depend  on  you  —  to  feel  that 
I  need  a  constant  example  before  my  eyes.  In  short, 
Miss  Graham,  I  may  as  well  frankly  admit,  what  you 
must  already  know,  that  all  my  hopes  for  this  world,  as 
well  as  for  another,  are  centred  in  you." 

"  I  am  truly  pained  to  hear  it,  and  must  beg  you  to 
say  nothing  further  of  this  nature." 


220  MARION   GRAHAM  : 

"  Your  request  surprises  me.  You  certainly  cannot 
have  been  ignorant  of  my  feelings,  and  your  kind  re- 
ception of  my  attentions  has  given  me  reason  to  sup- 
pose they  were  not  unwelcome.  Such  also  is  the 
impression  of  the  whole  community.  For  a  long  timr 
I  was  disturbed  with  doubts,  but  of  late  your  treatment 
has  made  me  confident  of  having  gained  your  affec- 
tions. You  surely  will  not  deny  this,  and  thus  inflict 
upon  me  the  most  terrible  disappointment." 

"  Of  any  such  feeling  or  impression  on  your  part  I 
have  been  entirely  ignorant.  And  I  am  sincerely  dis- 
tressed on  account  of  this  misunderstanding." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  all  iny  heart" 

"At  some  other  time,  —  not  to-night." 

"  Yes,  to-night  it  must  be.  I  might  as  well  contend 
against  the  north  wind,  as  to  suppress  the  love  which 
your  kind  faithfulness  and  interest  have  strengthened 
and  encouraged.  You  are  too  generous,  after  inspiring 
such  hopes,  to  subject  me  to  the  mortification  of  being 
pointed  at  as  one  who  has  been  trifled  with  —  ay,  jilted 
by  a  heartless  coquette." 

"  Your  words  confound  me,"  said  Marion,  greatly  ag- 
itated. "  But  I  must  entreat  you  to  defer  this  conversa- 
tion till  another  occasion." 

"  Nay,  Miss  Graham,"  replied  he,  throwing  himself  on 
his  knees,  and  speaking  with  vehemence.  "  I  must  be 
heard  now.  If  you  smile  upon  me,  I  can  be  or  do  any 
thing;  if  you  frown,  I  am  a  desperate  man,  and  cannot 
answer  for  the  consequences." 

"  Be  calm,"  said  Marion,  while  her  cheek  grew  pale; 
'•  and  I  will  listen  patiently." 

He  detected  her  alarm,  and  it  gave  him  boldness. 

"  Listening  is  not  all  I  want  I  must  have  love  for 
love." 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  221 

"Then  I  must  say  to  you  plainly,  but  in  all  friendli- 
ness ; —  that  can  never  be." 

•'  It  is  cruel  for  you  to  tamper  with  my  feelings." 

"  I  would  not  do  that,  Mr.  Perley ;  but  kindness  re- 
quires me  to  say  the  truth." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  intimate  that  my  plea  is  utterly 
in  vain?  " 

"  I  am  compelled  to  do  so." 

"And  that  there  is  no  hope  of  my  yet  winning 
you?" 

"Such  a  thing  is  not  possible." 

"Then,"  said  he,  springing  to  his  feet  and  stamping 
with  vexation,  "  I  may  as  well  make  known  to  you  my 
determination.  I  shall  not  leave  your  presence  till 
we  are  united  in  marriage." 

Marion  had  risen  from  her  seat,  but  she  sank  back 
like  one  paralyzed.  The  strength  which  had  sustained 
her  in  that  former  painful  interview  was  now  wanting. 
She  recalled  with  bitterness  the  words  of  Lenora,  and 
she  felt  that  her  own  credulity  had  brought  her  into 
this  snare.  Her  self-respect  was  wounded,  and,  conse- 
quently, her  self-possession  failed. 

"  Why  are  you  so  alarmed,  my  dear  girl  ?  You 
know  I  am  a  Christian, —  one  of  your  own  making. 
Xow  hear  me.  Whether  you  know  it  or  not,  it  was 
my  influence  that  brought  you  to  this  town,  and  to 
this  cottage  ;  — that  has  to-night  involved  you  in  toils 
which  you  cannot  escape.  It  is  now  nine.  In  half 
an  hour,  a  carriage  will  be  here  containing  a  minister 
and  a  witness,  and  it  will  take  but  a  few  moments  to 
make  you  my  wedded  wife." 

"It  will  be  no  marriage  if  forced"  said  Marion,  con- 
vulsively shuddering. 


222  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  The  minister  is  my  friend,  and  lie  will  go  through 
the  requisite  forms,  and  pronounce  us  man  and  wife. 
The  witness  will  testify  to  the  same."  And  he  put 
his  arms  around  her  shrinking  form.  By  a  desperate 
effort  she  suddenly  freed  herself,  and  falling  upon  her 
knees  before  him,  she  earnestly  implored,  — 

kt  Be  merciful,  Mr.  Perley !  " 

"What!  do  you  expect  me  to  be  more  tender-hearted 
than  a  woman  ?  It  is  too  late.  Your  blind  credulity 
has  given  you  to  my  arms,  and  no  mortal  power  can 
wrest  you  thence.  But  where  is  j'our  faith,  my  dear? 
Why  don't  you  pray  to  God,  that  he  would  send  an 
angel  to  deliver  you?  " 

"  Your  rebuke  of  my  unbelief  is  deserved.  I  do  most 
fervently  appeal  to  One  that  is  stronger  than  you." 

And,  clasping  her  hands  and  lifting  her  streaming 
eyes  to  heaven,  her  lips  faintly  uttered  the  prayer  of  her 
soul,  "  Save  me,  O  God !  "  Every  energy  of  her  being 
was  concentrated  in  that  brief  but  intense  supplication. 
And  she  arose  tranquil,  assured  that  her  cry  of  agony 
had  reached  her  Father's  ear. 

At  that  very  moment  the  loud  ring  of  the  door-bell 
startled  the  base  man. 

"  It  is  too  early  for  my  confederates.  And  no  one 
else  shall  intrude  here  this  night,  even  if  he  be  a  mes- 
senger from  heaven." 

"  Help!  help  !  "  rang  out  piercingly  upon  the  night 
air. 

Her  agonizing  call  fell  upon  no  indifferent  ear.  The 
door  was  shaken  violently,  and,  as  that  did  not  yield, 
the  window  was  raised  by  a  strong  arm,  and  Mr. 
Sunderland  stood  before  her.  She  stretched  out  her 
arms,  and,  uttering  a  cry  of  joy,  fell  fainting  at  his  feet. 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  223 


CHAPTER    XX. 


'  Night  is  not  forever, 

Darkness  finds  an  end,  — 
Light  from  higher,  holier  realms 

On  me  will  descend. 
Though  I  wait  in  sorrow, 

Though  I  pine  in  gloom, 
There  will^be  a  morrow, 

Morning  yet  will  come." 


WHEN  Marion  opened  her  eyes,  she  found  herself 
lying  on  the  lounge,  while  some  one  knelt  beside  her, 
tenderly  chafing  her  face  and  hands.  Conscious  of 
having  passed  through  some  painful  scene,  she  exerted 
herself  to  recall  what  it  was,  and  what  stranger  was 
before  her,  whose  face,  shaded  from  the  light,  she  could 
not  distinctly  see.  Mr.  Sunderland's  gentle  inquiry, 
"  Are  you  better  ?  "  brought  every  thing  to  her  mind,  and, 
pressing  his  hand  in  both  hers,  she  exclaimed, — 

"  It  was  God  who  heard  my  cry  of  anguish,  and  sent 
you  to  deliver  me.  My  first  thanks  are  due  to  him. 
Will  you  not  speak  them  for  me  ?  " 

Eagerly  did  her  drooping  heart  drink  in  his  words  of 
thanksgiving  and  of  supplication. 

"  And  how  shall  I  ever  express  what  I  owe  to  you  ?  " 
said  she,  looking  up  through  her  tears. 

"  You  owe  me  nothing.     It  was,  as  you  say,  a  Higher 


224  MARION  GRAHAM; 

Power  that  sent  me  here,  and  all  your  gratitude  belongs 
to  him." 

"  But  how  did  it  happen  ?  I  was  not  aware  that  you 
had  returned.'1 

"  I  will  explain  all  in  due  time.  Now  you  must  in- 
form me  where  I  can  find  some  wine  for  you." 

"  That  is  not  necessary." 

"  I  am  your  physician  lo-night,  and  require  implicit 
obedience.  You  see  for  yourself  it  is  necessary ; "  for, 
having  attempted  to  rise,  she  sank  back  exhausted. 
Giving  him  directions,  he  soon  prepared  and  brought  her 
his  prescribed  medicine. 

"  One  thing  more  must  be  done,"  and  his  voice  low- 
ered. "  I  found  Mr.  Perley  perfectly  infuriated,  and  his 
feelings  were  not  improved  by  his  unceremonious  eject- 
ment. He  will  be  on  the  alert  to  do  us  both  injury,  with 
his  tongue,  if  in  no  other  way ;  and  I  know  you  will 
wish  to  avoid  all  explanation,  so  far  as  possible.  On 
this  account,  Miss  Graham,  I  must  either  try  to  bring 
my  mother  here,  or  to  get  you  to  her." 

Marion  looked  her  thanks  for  his  considerate  kindness, 
and  said, — 

"  Let  me  go  with  you  then." 

"  But  I  must  be  absent  ten  minutes  to  order  a  sleigh." 

He  gave  her  an  inquiring  glance.  With  a  shudder 
she  replied, — 

"  He  told  me  a  minister  and  a  witness  would  be  here 
at  h.ilf  past  nine.'" 

u  The  rascal ! "  said  he.  with  a  stern  look,  but,  in  a 
moment,  resuming  his  natural  expression,  he  added, 
"  It  is  after  that  already,  for  it  took  me  a  long  time  to 
bring  you  out  of  your  fainting  fit.  And  you  may  be 
sure  the  first  thing  Mr.  Perley  did  was  to  arrest  that 
movement." 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  225 

"  I  will  remain,  then."  And,  without  further  delay, 
he  made  all  fast  and  departed. 

"  It  is  not  a  very  inviting  ride  we  have  before  us,  Miss 
Graham,  but  I  think  Isaac  will  get  us  through.  Now 
you  must  keep  quiet  and  let  me  bundle  you  up.  I  have 
a  mother,  you  know,  and  am  used  to  such  things.  Shall 
I  find  your  clothes  in  the  hall  ?  " 

Marion  could  not  forbear  smiling  when  he  returned 
with  his  arms  full,  and  began  to  wrap  her  up  as  if  she 
were  a  child.  She  could  hardly  account  for  her  feeling 
so  entirely  at  home  with  one  whom  she  knew  so  little ; 
but  it  was  a  pleasant  reliance,  and  she  did  not  care  to 
contend  against  it.  With  Mr.  Sunderland's  help,  she 
was  soon  in  the  sleigh,  which,  however,  was  by  no 
means  the  end  of  difficulties.  The  problem  was  to  ride 
through  the  drifts  and  keep  right  side  up.  Isaac  urged 
and  coaxed  the  poor  beast,  which  struggled  and  floun- 
dered, and  made  but  slow  progress.  At  length,  how- 
ever, the  parsonage  was  reached,  and  they  entered  the 
parlor,  where  the  pleasant  fire-light  from  the  glowing 
grate  cast  a  cheerful  look  upon  every  thing. 

"  Miss  Graham,  this  is  my  mother." 

Marion  instinctively  extended  both  her  hands,  and 
was  at  once  folded  in  Mrs.  Sunderland's  arms.  A  gen- 
uine lady  of  the  old  school,  her  warm  heart  had  melted 
all  its  formalities  into  a  genial  kindness.  She  was  tall 
and  dignified,  yet  with  such  a  charming  face  and  man- 
ner that  Marion  was  at  once  attracted.  Mr.  Sunder- 
land  observed  this  with  pleasure,  for  his  mother  was  the 
delight,  as  well  as  the  pride  of  his  heart. 

The  next  afternoon,  as  Marion  lay  upon  the  sofa,  for 
she  still  found  herself  greatly  exhausted,  Lenora  came 


226  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

in,  and,  having  greeted  her  affectionately,  proceeded 
to  say, 

"  Mr.  Sunderland  was  at  Uncle  Austin's  this  morn- 
ing, and,  in  strict  confidence,  told  me  something  of  what 
has  happened.  I  have  been  all  impatience  to  see  you 
ever  since,  but  he  forbade  my  coming  till  this  hour." 

"  I  have  found  that  your  impressions  were  right,  and 
as  you  feared  —  to  my  cost." 

"  It  was  terrible,  dear  Marion,  but,  thank  Heaven,  you 
are  safe  out  of  his  talons  now.  My  blood  boils  when 
I  think  of  what  you  must  have  endured." 

"  I  wished  a  great  many  times  that  I  had  taken  you 
home  with  me." 

"  I  verily  believe  I  should  have  had  strength  to  knock 
down  the  jackanapes.  But  that  is  too  good  a  name 
for  the  wretch.  I  should  like  to  expose  him  to  the  view 
of  the  civilized  world.  But  don't  look  so  distressed. 
For  your  sake  I  will  hold  my  tongue,  even  if  I  have 
to  bite  it,  as  I  think  is  probable." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Lenora,  your  excitement  may  prove 
contagious,  and  injure  our  friend." 

"  So  far  from  that,  Mr.  Sunderland,  1  am  operating  as 
a  safety  valve.  Consider  how  much  steam  has  accu- 
mulated, and  that  there  is  consequently  danger  of  an 
explosion.  So,  as  she  is  too  weak  to  let  it  off,  I  am 
doing  it  fcr  her.  Thus  I  shall  come  in  for  my  share  of 
credit  in  her  cure." 

"  You  are  certainly  entitled  to  credit  for  pleading 
your  cause  so  ingeniously." 

"  I  undertook  to  argue  with  her  once,"  said  Marion  ; 
"now,  I  have  learned  to  let  her  have  it  all  her  own 
way.  But  do  you  know  that  you  have  told  me  nothing 
about  your  return,  and  how  you  happened  to  call  just 
then  ?  " 


I 

OR,    HIGHKR   THAN    HAPPIXKSS.  227 

"  Good ! "  exclaimed  Lenora,  "  I  have  been  aching  to 
know  that  very  thing." 

"  To  make  a  beginning,  then,  we  came  home  on  Mon- 
day, and  the  very  first  report  that  greeted  us  was  that 
Mr.  Perley  was  about  to  marry  Miss  Graham."  He 
took  care  not  to  look  at  her  flushed  face,  but  continued : 
;'  I  have  never  had  but  one  opinion  of  that  man,  and  I 
could  not  give  credence  to  the  story.  Yet  it  was  re- 
peated in  so  many  ways,  and  confirmed  by  such  state- 
ments, that  I  became  convinced  there  was  false  play 
somewhere. 

"  Yesterday  afternoon,  while  at  Mr.  Austin's,  your 
good  friend  Lenora  Benson  waxed  very  eloquent  on  the 
subject,  and  from  her  I  think  I  obtained  a  pretty  correct 
idea  of  the  case.  I  have  been  absent  so  long  that  I 
found  myself  pressed  with  pastoral  duties,  but  I  deter- 
mined to  call  on  you  the  evening  of  the  following  day. 
After  tea,  I  sat  down  to  commence  a  sermon  for  the 
Sabbath.  I  had  selected  my  text,  and  written  a  page  or 
two,  when  a  sudden  idea  arrested  me,  «  I  will  see  Miss 
Graham  to-night.'  I  resisted  it,  and  wrote  on.  Again 
that  impression.  I  sternly  put  it  down  as  folly,  and 
forced  my  pen  along  the  page.  Thus  the  conflict  pro- 
ceeded, my  impulse  gaining  strength  as  it  was  baffled. 
A  strange  misgiving  stole  over  me.  I  went  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  and  listened,  and  then  seated  myself 
again  at  my  task,  feeling  that  it  would  be  madness  to 
venture  out  on  such  an  evening.  But  I  grew  more  and 
more  restless,  and  at  length  started  up  saying,  '  I  must 
go.  It  is  clearly  an  intimation  of  Providence,  and  who 
can  tell  what  she  may  suffer  if  I  neglect  it.'  By  some 
this  might  be  regarded  as  superstitious ;  but  I  believe 
that  a  Divine  Hand  guides  us  in  the  minutest  events. 


228  M  A  R  ION    GRAHAM  ; 

"  When  I  left  my  study,  I  found  that  my  mother, 
who  had  spoken  of  weariness,  had  retired.  I  went  to 
her  door  and  told  her  that  duty  called  me  out." 

"  Duty  again !  "  broke  in  Lenora. 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  that  word  ?  " 

"  The  greatest  possible ;  but  I  won't  interrupt  you  now, 
only  your  first  expression,  impulse,  does  you  better  jus- 
tice." 

"Before  leaving  the  house,  actuated  I  suppose  by 
'  impulse]  I  put  a  fresh  supply  of  coal  upon  the  fire,  cer- 
tainly an  unusual  thing  for  me  to  do.  I  then  saUied 
forth  into  the  dark  night,  every  step  strengthening  my 
purpose  to  reach  Mrs.  Carson's  as  soon  as  possible.  The 
lights  in  almost  all  the  dwellings  were  extinguished,  not 
a  star  was  visible,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  unearthly 
howlings.  Wild  with  haste,  I  pressed  onward,  nor  did 
I  pause  till  my  hand  was  on  the  door  bell.  Just  then 
your  shriek  fell  upon  my  ear,  and  I  thanked  Him  who 
had  sent  me  to  your  relief." 

When  he  had  finished,  tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  all 
his  auditors. 

Dashing  her  own  away,  Lenora  exclaimed,  — 

"  I  am  a  fool, 
To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of." 

"  I  am  in  the  same  condemnation,  who  have  more 
occasion  for  gratitude  and  joy  than  any  one." 

"  Mr.  Perley's  conduct  might  justly  lead  us  to  shed 
tears  of  compassion,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland. 

"  I,  for  one,  shall  be  forever  guiltless  of  all  tears  in  his 
behalf,"  responded  Lenora,  "  though  I  might  perhaps  be 
tempted  to  cry  for  joy  if  he  got  his  deserts." 

The  week  Marion  passed  at  the  parsonage  was  a  de- 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  229 

lightful  one.  Mr.  Sunderland  had  a  wonderful  faculty 
of  government,  and  contrived  to  carry  out  all  his  plans 
for  the  improvement  of  her  health  and  spirits.  He  was 
quite  in  the  habit  of  using  the  imperative  mood,  though 
his  tones  were  remarkably  gentle. 

"  You  must  not  read  in  that  light,  Miss  Graham," 
said  he  one  day  as  she  was  looking  over  a  book  which 
Lenora  had  just  brought  in. 

She  was  about  to  obey,  when,  on  second  thought,  she 
answered  playfully, — 

4<  I  don't  know  about  always  letting  you  have  your 
own  way.  I  think  I  shall  finish  this  passage." 

"  Then  I  must  insist ; "  and  taking  the  book  from  her, 
he  laid  it  on  the  mantel-piece". 

If  she  was  inclined  to  be  vexed,  one  glance  at  his  face 
effectually  forbade  it.  Lenora,  who  stood  at  the  win- 
dow, had  looked  up  in  astonishment,  and  now,  in  her 
headstrong  fashion,  started  forward,  saying,  — 

"  You  shall  have  it,  Marion,"  and  reached  her  hand 
for  the  book. 

"  Lenora ! "  and  his  clear  eye  was  fixed  upon  her. 

She  blushed  and  yielded,  but  consoled  herself  by 
saying,  — 

"  I  wouldn't  have  heeded  his  orders,  but  he  magnet- 
ized me." 

"  It's  his  way,"  replied  Marion,  smiling,  "  and  there  is 
no  use  in  resisting." 

"  Put  on  this  shawl,"  said  Mr.  Sunderland  one  day, 
as  Lenora  was  about  leaving  the  house  without  any 
outer  garment. 

"  I  came  here  as  I  am,  and  I  shall  return  in  the  same 
style,  if  it  is  only  to  have  my  own  way  for  once." 

"  Then  you  will  not  go  home,"  replied  he  in  his  own 
quiet  but  decided  manner. 


230  MARION  GRAHAM; 

She  understood  him  too  well  to  debate  longer;  so, 
with  the  best  grace  she  could  command,  she  submitted, 
saying,  — 

"  I  hope  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  know  how 
pleasant  it  is  to  obey." 

"  When  it  does,  I  shall  think  of  you."' 

It  was  decided  that  Marion  should  board  at  Mr. 
Vaughan's,  a  pleasant  family  belonging  to  Mr.  Sunder- 
land's  society,  and  living  not  far  from  him.  She  found 
there  an  agreeable  home,  and  cheered  in  her  leisure 
hours  by  the  society  of  her  new  friends  and  of  Lenora, 
the  weeks  passed  swiftly  away. 

She  had  a  great  respect  and  affection  for  her  own 
minister,  Mr.  Morton,  but  in  hearing  Mr.  Sunderland, 
her  ideal  of  a  preacher  was  first  answered.  There  was 
thought  and  reasoning,  imagination  and  fervor,  all  in 
their  due  proportion.  His  logic  was  kindled  by  love, 
and  his  arguments  blazed  with  illustration. 

"  How  much  I  shall  miss  Mr.  Sunderland's  ser- 
mons ! "  said  Lenora.  "  It  will  be  next  to  my  missing 
of  you." 

She  had  been  suddenly  summoned  home,  in  the 
expectation  of  going  abroad  with  her  parents  in  the 
spring.  She  promised  to  call  on  Julia  McKinstry,  who 
had  written  to  Marion  with  much  sympathy,  urging  her 
to  spend  the  winter  in  New  York. 

•'  Papa  says  we  get  along  as  cozily  as  two  old  shoes," 
she  said,  "  but  you  must  come  and  see  for  yourself." 

Lenora  spent  her  last  afternoon  at  the  parsonage,  in 
company  with  Marion.  She  tried  to  rattle  off  with  her 
usual  gayety,  but  was  evidently  under  a  cloud.  Seat- 
ing himself  beside  her,  Mr.  Sunderland  drew  her  into  a 
serious  conversation,  while  his  mother  and  Marion  were 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  231 

chatting  together.  What  he  said  to  her  they  did  not 
know,  but  they  :.;aw  ii  was  almost  impossible  for  her  to 
control  her  feelings. 

In  the  evening,  when  Marion  and  she  returned  home, 
Mr.  Sunderland  accompanied  them.  They  came  first 
to  Mr.  Austin's,  and  as  Lenora  was  to  leave  early  the 
next  morning,  they  would  not  see  her  again.  To  Mr 
Sunderland's  earnest  farewell  she  could  make  no  reply 
but  throwing  her  arms  around  Marion's  neck,  she  sobbed 
aloud,  and  then,  suddenly  breaking  away,  rushed  into 
the  house.  Mr.  Sunderland  and  Marion  walked  on  in 
silence,  both  of  them  partaking  of  the  emotion  of  their 
friend. 

More  than  once  when  going  home  in  the  evening; 
on  turning  the  corner  in  which  Mrs.  Vaughan's  house 
stood,  Marion  had  fancied  a  dark  form  slinking  among 
the  trees.  A  few  nights  after  Lenora's  departure  she 
had  gone  down  to  the  door  to  receive  a  message  from 
one  of  her  pupils.  She  stood  a  moment  after  her  caller 
had  left,  gazing  into  the  starry  sky,  while  thoughts  of 
her  wandering  friend  stole  over  her.  Suddenly,  the 
name  dark  form  she  had  before  noticed  emerged  from 
behind  a  wall,  and  appeared  in  her  presence.  Before  she 
could  collect  her^thoughts,  she  heard  her  own  name 
called  in  a  voice-  which  made  her  start. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Graham  !  " 

Without  replying,  Marion  was  about  to  close  the 
door  when  the  voice  continued,  — 

"  I  have  only  a  single  word  to  say  to  you.  Although 
by  base  means  my  plan  was  defeated,  yet  you  cannot 
have  forgotten  that,  by  your  own  voluntary  act,  you  are 
still  in  my  power.  I  therefore  demand  the  immediate 
payment  of  your  unconditional  note.  If  you  fail  in  this. 


232  MAUION  GRAHAM; 

I  shall  circulate  the  sfory  of  your  father's  insolvency 
And  I  shall  also  seize  upon  your  cottage  and  furniture, 
not  excepting  your  personal  effects.  One  week  I  will 
allow  you  in  which  to  meet  my  claims.  If  I  fail  to 
hear  from  you  then,  beware ! " 

After  he  had  glided  away,  she  stood  for  a  moment 
like  one  paralyzed.  It  was  an  unexpected  stroke,  and 
she  saw  no  way  of  deliverance.  The  night  wore  away, 
but  brought  her  no  rest. 

"  I  will  ask  Mr.  Sunderland's  advice,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. 

Soon  after  breakfast,  she  went  to  the  parsonage,  and 
was  met  at  the  door  by  the  minister. 

"  Are  you  sick  ?  "  he  said  with  concern,  noticing  a 
change  in  her  appearance. 

"  I  did  not  sleep  well  last  night,  and  I  have  come  to 
consult  you  on  a  painful  matter." 

He  invited  her  into  his  study,  and  giving  her  an  arm- 
chair, he  seated  himself  beside  her.  Telling  him  more  par- 
ticularly than  she  had  before  done  of  the  circumstances 
attending  her  father's  death,  she  related  the  occurrence 
of  the  preceding  evening.  As  she  repeated  Mr.  Per- 
ley's  words,  an  angry  flush  passed  over  his  face.  Lean- 
ing his  head  upon  his  hand,  he  sat  for  a  few  moments 
buried  in  thought,  while  Marion  anxiously  watched 
him.  At  length  he  broke  the  silence. 

"  Have  no  fear  of  his  dastardly  threat  with  regard  to 
your  father.  And  now  let  me  ask  a  few  questions. 
You  are  sure  your  father  told  you  there  was  no  claim 
on  the  estate  ?  " 

"  Entirely  sure." 

"  Have  his  books  and  papers  been  thoroughly  ex- 
amined ?  " 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  233 

"  Mr.  Godwin  has  looked  them  all  over." 

"  Are  there  no  other  papers  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  trunk  of  old  letters  at  the  cottage,  but  1 
think  there  can  be  no  business  papers  there." 

He  sat  in  silence  for  a  time,  and  then  said,  "  You 
must  allow  me  to  carry  you  to  Glenwood,  and  to  assist 
you  in  reexamining  matters,  for  I  believe  there  has  been 
a  great  fraud  practised." 

"  If  you  can  spare  the  time,  I  will  follow  your  coun- 
sel, though  I  have  little  expectation  of  any  favorable 
result" 

"  I  must  find  some  one  to  take  your  place  in  school, 
and  we  will  start  this  afternoon.  It  is  fine  sleighing; 
so  we  can  travel  rapidly." 

At  one  o'clock  he  called  for  her,  amply  provided  with 
cloaks  and  buffaloes.  "  You  see  I  am  an  old  traveller," 
he  said,  as  he  placed  a  heated  soap-stone  underneath 
her  feet,  and  laid  a  smaller  one  in  her  hands. 

"  I  see  you  know  how  to  take  good  care  of  your 
friends." 

They  had  no  lack  for  conversation,  and  Mr.  Sunder- 
land  drew  out  of  Marion  many  incidents  of  her  past 
life.  But  not  the  first  word  concerning  Maurice  fell 
from  her  lips.  In  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  they 
drove  up  to  the  cottage,  and  presently  Polly  was  at  the 
door  overjoyed  to  see  her  young  mistress. 

"  You  haven't  been  and  got  married  ?  "  asked  she, 
while  Mr.  Sunderland  was  taking  the  horse  to  a  hotel. 

"  Oh  no,  indeed ! "  she  replied,  laughing  at  Polly's 
gravity.  "  That  is  rny  Carrisford  minister,  and  he  has 
come  to  help  me  on  some  business  matters." 

"  He's  a  likely  man,  anyhow." 

"  To  be  rure,  and  deserves  a  good  supper  for  bring- 
ing me  hore  so  nicely." 


234  MARION   GRAHAM  : 

Polly  bustled  round,  and,  soon  after  Mr.  Sunderland's 
return,  a  warm  supper  was  in  readiness  for  the  travel- 
lers. 

After  tea,  the  old  trunk  was  brought  in  and  carefully 
searched,  but  no  business  documents  could  be  found. 

"  What  were  you  expecting  to  discover  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  myself,  but  I  think  I  shall  somewhere 
find  the  evidence  of  his  fraud.  Is  there  no  other  pos- 
sible place  ? " 

"  There  is  a  little  trunk  containing  the  correspondence 
of  my  father  and  mother,"  answered  Marion  in  a  falter- 
ing voice.  "  But  I  have  never  ventured  to  unlock  it, 
and  there  can  hardly  be  any  such  evidence  there." 

"  We  had  better  assure  ourselves." 

She  brought  the  trunk,  and,  handing  him  the  key, 
motioned  that  he  should  open  it.  The  memories  of  the 
past  overflowed  her,  and  she  could  not  speak.  When 
he  had  complied,  he  paused ;  and  they  both  looked  silently 
within,  where  lay  the  record  of  two  loving  hearts.  Her 
father's  letters  were  tied  with  white  ribbons,  though 
now  yellowed  by  time.  Her  mother's  were  tied  with 
black,  and  bore  the  marks  of  frequent  perusal.  Marion 
shook  her  head,  signifying  that  nothing  could  be  found 
there. 

"Shall  I  look?" 

"  If  you  think  best." 

Reverently  he  lifted  the  neat  packages  and  laid  them 
on  the  table.  At  the  very  bottom  of  the  trunk  was  a 
pocket-book  which  had  disappeared  a  few  month* 
since,  her  father  supposing  he  had  lost  it  on  a  journey. 
Mr.  Sunderland  held  it  out  to  Marion. 

"  Please  open  it." 

He  did  so,  and  examining  the  contents,  he  said,  — 

iv  Here  are  two  fifty  dollar  bills." 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  235 

"  I  remember  father's  speaking  of  having  lost  them 
with  the  pocket-book." 

Nothing  further  could  be  found.  But  Mr.  Sunder- 
land  was  by  no  means  discouraged.  The  next  day  he 
spent  in  Mr.  Godwin's  office,  carefully  examining  Judge 
Graham's  papers.  In  looking  over  the  list  of  notes,  he 
came  to  those  of  Ambrose  &  Co.,  which  Mr.  Godwin 
told  him  were  the  ones  that  had  proved  so  disastrous 
to  Marion,  owing  to  the  failure  of  the  company. 
Without  saying  a  word  of  his  intentions  to  Mr.  God- 
win, whose  prepossessions  were  in  favor  of  Mr.  Perley, 
he  determined  to  go  to  Farland,  thirty  miles  distant, 
and  call  on  Mr.  Ambrose.  Finding  him  at  home,  he 
begged  permission  to  ask  a  few  questions,  and  then  in- 
quired if  it  was  true,  that,  at  the  time  of  his  failure,  he 
only  paid  twenty-five  per  cent,  on  his  debts. 

"  It  was  all  I  was  able  to  do,  sir." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  how  unfortunate  this 
was  for  the  daughter  of  Judge  Graham,  who  had  just 
been  left  an  orphan." 

"  I  certainly  do  not  know  ;  nor  can  I  understand  how 
it  should  be  so,"  returned  he,  opening  his  eyes  wide 
upon  Mr.  Sunderland. 

"  Mr.  Perley  presented  a  claim  for  $15,000,  as  he  had 
advanced  $30,000  to  refund  the  bank.  To  meet  this 
claim,  she  was  obliged  to  give  up  every  thing." 

"  The  scamp!"  broke  out  Mr.  Ambrose  indignantly. 
"  A  precious  stroke  of  villany,  indeed  !  "  And  looking 
confounded,  he  sat  gazing  on  the  carpet  as  if  lie  was 
there  tracing  out  Mr.  Perley's  doings.  After  waiting  a 
few  moments  in  silence,  Mr.  Sunderland  ventured  to 
hint  that  he  should  like  to  be  enlightened  in  the  matter. 
Recovering  himself,  Mr.  Ambrose  said, — 


236  MARION    GRAHAM  J 

"  I  had  been  engaged  in  large  speculations;  and  Mr. 
Perley  had  become  fearful,  and  at  length  refused  to  sell 
me  any  more  goods,  unless  I  procured  an  indorser  for 
the  notes  already  due,  as  well  as  for  any  future  ones  I 
might  give.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  the  signa- 
ture of  my  friend,  Mr.  Blois ;  and,  to  my  certain  knowl- 
edge, he  made  up  my  deficit,  and  paid  every  cent  of 
the  $30,000.  A  precious  stroke,  indeed ! "  added  he 
with  emphasis,  again  concentrating  his  gaze  on  the 
carpet 

"  Where  does  Mr.  Blois  live  ?  " 

"  Not  half  a  mile  from  here." 

"  I  should  like  his  affidavit." 

"  Of  course  you  would,  and  1  will  go  with  you." 

Well  satisfied  with  his  day's  work,  Mr.  Sunderland 
returned  to  Glenwood.  He  had  no  sooner  opened  the 
door  of  Mr.  Godwin's  office,  than  that  gentleman  ex- 
claimed,— 

"  I  have  been  watching  for  you  all  day.  A  smooth- 
faced rogue,  indeed !  But  sit  down,  sit  down."  And 
rubbing  his  hands  with  glee,  he  continued,  "  Here  is 
a  telegraphic  despatch  from  an  agent  of  mine,  and  an 
old  friend  of  the  Judge's.  And  as  good  luck  would 
have  it"  — 

"  Or  a  kind  Providence,"  interrupted  Mr.  Sunderland, 
smiling. 

"  Just  so  ;  you're  right  there.  Well,  he  has  just  dis- 
covered a  fraudulent  transaction  by  which  Mr.  Perley 
had  sponged  the  Judge  out  of  $20,000." 

"  And  your  convictions  of  his  integrity  are  somewhat 
shaken  thereby,  eh,  Mr.  Godwin  ?  " 

"  Well,  well !  You  see  I  had  known  him  for  years, 
and  the  Judge  had  confidence  in  him  too.  But  we're 


OB,    HICHHK    THAN    HAPPINESS.  '2'M 

all  liable  to  be  mistaken.  Yes,  I  can  now  believe  with 
you,  that  the  wilt  to  cheat  the  daughter  was  not  want- 
ing; but  the  way, —  I  see  no  way." 

"  Where  there's  a  will,  a  villain  usually  finds  a  way," 
and  he  held  Mr.  Blois'  affidavit  before  Mr.  Godwin's 
eyes. 

"  Indeed !  indeed !  indeed ! "  and  he  ended  a  long 
survey  of  Mr.  Sunderland  by  saying,  "  It's  a  thousand 
pities  you  are  not  in  the  law.  But  does  our  friend 
know  this  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     Shall  we  call  there  together  ?  " 

"  Without  delay.  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  to  go 
with  me  and  announce  the  telegram."  As  they  entered 
the  cottage,  Mr.  Sunderland  looked  earnestly  at  Marion, 
while  on  Mr.  Godwin's  face  sunshine  sat  triumphant. 

"  Well,  Miss  Marion,"  said  he,  cordially  shaking  her 
hand.  "  We  have  taken  the  crafty  in  his  own  net. 
But  the  praise  is  all  due  to  this  minister,  who  ought,  by 
all  rights,  to  have  been  a  lawyer.  He  has  turned  dark- 
ness into  daylight." 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ?  "  broke  in  Polly.  "  Is  it  any 
good  news  for  Miss  Marion  ?  " 

u  Yes,  Polly,  taking  the  discoveries  together,  it's  as 
good  as  $35,000  in  money,  and  worth  inconceivably 
more  than  that  in  freeing  her  from  a  base  man's  toils." 

"  The  Lord  be  praised ! "  cried  Polly,  while  tears 
rolled  down  her  cheeks.  "  I  was  sure  he  wouldn't  let 
her  be  cheated  in  the  long  run,  for  I  knowed  she  was 
cheated,  though  she  didn't  think  so.  It  didn't  seem  as 
if  God  was  minding  nothing  'bout  it.  But  he  was 
minding,  for  all  that." 

Mr.  Godwin  then  explained  the  matter  to  Marion, 
who  sat  with  her  face  covered  and  her  head  bowed. 


1>38  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

"  Many,  my  dear  young  friend,  will  rejoice  in  your  re- 
turn of  prosperity.  It  was  my  plan,"  he  continued,  "  to 
arraign  the  villain  for  public  trial,  but  my  friend  here 
seemed  to  think  that  would  be  putting  you  on  trial  too, 
which  I  should  be  sorry  to  do.  So,  at  his  suggestion, 
I  shall  to-morrow  morning  send  Mr.  Perley  a  plain  talk 
on  paper,  allowing  him,  for  your  sake,  to  choose  between 
being  arrested  for  fraud,  or  immediately  returning  the 
embezzled  funds  and  leaving  the  country  forever.  So, 
if  he  prefers  the  former,  my  young  lady,  you  must  put 
on  a  brave  face  and  make  the  best  of  it.  For  I  shall 
make  it  clear  that,  if  he  is  not  off  in  short  metre,  we 
shall  put  the  screws  on." 

"  I  fervently  hope  it  will  never  come  to  that." 

"  Not  likely.  But,  in  the  mean  time,  what  is  your 
purpose  ?  " 

"  To  put  my  good  Polly  back  into  the  house  with  our 
old  John,  if  I  can  procure  him." 

"And  for  yourself?" 

"  To  complete  my  engagement  at  Carrisford." 

"  Well,  well,  that's  not  a  bad  plan." 

When  they  left  the  door  Mr.  Sunderland  said,  — 

"  I  suppose  there  are  some  other  places  }'ou  will  wish 
to  visit?  Are  you  willing  I  should  accompany  you  ?v 

"  If  you  have  any  interest  in  doing  so." 

She  said  this  sincerely  ;  for  the  delicacy  and  sym- 
pathy of  her  companion  prevented  her  from  regarding 
him  as  an  intruder,  even  when  retiring  into  her  most 
sacred  sorrows.  They  proceeded  on  their  walk,  and 
soon  turned  into  the  street  where  stood  Judge  Graham's 
fine  old  mansion. 

"  Mr.  Godwin  gave  me  the  key  which  Mr.  Perley -had 
left  with  him.  But  for  the  recent  change  of  owners  I 
should  not  venture  there." 


OK,    H1G11EU   THAN    HAPPINESS.  *2'6(J 

Silently  they  walked  through  the  venerable  yard,  the 
snow-crust  bearing  them  over  the  long  untrodden  paths. 
Entering  the  deserted  mansion,  Marion  found  the  fur- 
niture just  as  she  had  left  it. 

They  silently  passed  through  the  various  rooms,  lin- 
gering in  the  library  where  Marion  and  her  father  had 
spent  their  last  evening  together.  Her  closing  visit  she 
made  to  her  own  boudoir,  having  requested  her  com- 
panion to  wait  a  moment  in  the  parlor.  It  was  a  spot 
hallowed  by  the  memory  of  that  friend  who,  she  felt, 
was  more  truly  lost  to  her,  than  if  the  high  thick  walls 
of  death  rose  between  them.  Kneeling  upon  the  floor 
and  bowing  her  head  on  the  -table,  a  flood  of  grief 
flowed  over  her. 


The  next  morning,  in  looking  over  Marion's  books, 
Mr.  Sunderland  exclaimed  with  pleasure, 

"  You  have  German  books  then  ?  " 

"  Most  of  them  belong  to  an  acquaintance,  who  is 
now  abroad." 

Opening  a  volume  he  read  aloud  upon  the  fly  leaf 
the  name  of  "  Maurice  Vinton."  Marion  was  busy 
adjusting  the  window  curtain,  and,  with  as  much  indif- 
ference as  she  could  assume,  replied, 

"  Yes ;  the  son  of  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vinton  on  whom 
we  called  yesterday,  and  the  brother  of  my  best  friend, 
Bessie  Maynard." 

As  he  was  intent  on  the  books,  her  confusion,  fortu- 
nately or  unfortunately,  escaped  his  notice. 

"  Shall  we  take  back  some  of  the  volumes,  and  read 
them  together  ?  " 


240  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

"  I  should  enjoy  it  very  much." 

When  the  sleigh  drove  up  to  the  door,  Polly  had  the 
stones  heated  and  nicely  wrapped  up.  She  was  in  fine 
spirits  at  the  thought  of  being  reinstalled  again  in  the 
old  Hall. 

"John  and  me  shall  have  every  thing  in  prime  order 
agin  you  return." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.     Good-by,  Polly." 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Marion." 

And  she  stood  at  the  door  till  they  were  out  of  sight. 

"  That's  the  likeliest  young  man  I  ever  sot  eyes  on. 
And  'twouldn't  be  strange  neither  if  Miss  Marion  should 
come  to  think  as  much." 

With  this  wise  reflection  she  closed  the  door. 

For  a  time  the  travellers  rode  without  exchanging  a 
word.  But  at  length  Marion  broke  the  silence. 

"  Death  has  always  been  to  me  a  most  gloomy  sub- 
ject." 

"  But  it  is  the  bridge  over  which  our  thoughts  can 
instantly  pass  to  a  very  bright  one." 

"  It  ought  to  be  so,  I  suppose,  but  I  have  no  definite 
conceptions  of  heaven  ;  and  that  of  which  we  have 
only  vague  ideas  cannot  present  the  attractions  we 
might  otherwise  feel." 

"  But  why  have  you  no  distinct  impressions  of  our 
future  home  ?  " 

"  Because,  on  the  one  hand,  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  conceive  of  pure  spirit,  or  of  the  dwelling-place  and 
employments  suited  to  it.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  I 
have  been  afraid  to  think  of  heaven  as  in  any  respect 
corresponding  to  earth,  lest  I  should  thus  materialize  it." 

"  The  beloved  John,  then,  has  been  guilty  of  mate- 
rializing it.  With  such  authority,  I  think  we  are  safe 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  241 

in  giving  the  reins  to  our  imagination,  allowing  it 
to  soar  in  the  direction  which  the  divine  oracles  have 
pointed  out.  They  speak  in  the  boldest  language  of 
celestial  fruits  and  flowers,  of  trees  of  life  full  of  healing 
leaves,  and  of  streams  pure  as  crystal.  Therefore  I  feel 
justified  in  thinking  of  heaven,  not  as  a  shadow-land, 
but  as  a  place  fitted  up  with  the  most  exquisite  beauty. 
I  believe  its  crowning  glory  and  delight  is  the  presence 
of  the  Lord ;  but  I  also  believe  that  he  has  filled  it  with 
every  object  suited  to  satisfy  the  enlarged  and  various 
desires  of  red^med  and  holy  beings." 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  your  views.  Do  you  remem- 
ber to  have  met  with  a  gorgeous  poem,  entitled  '  Over 
There  ? ' " 

"  I  do  not ;  but  cannot  you  repeat  it  ?  " 

"  I  can  give  you  scrr-.F  of  my  favorite  passages." 

"  Always  brooding  warm  and  olden, 
Sleeps  the  shimmer,  mellow-golden 

Over  there. 

Never  blighting  shadow  passes 
O'er  the  silky,  star-eyed  grasses, 
Waving  wide  their  flowing  hair, 

Over  there. 

"  Brilliant  blossoms  breathe  and  bnrn 

Over  there ; 

Nectar-drunken  nods  the  fern 
By  the  tulip's  ruby  urn, 

Over  there ; 

And  the  rose's  red,  divine, 
Flashes  by  the  saintly  shrine 
Of  the  lily's  argentine, 

Over  there. 

Orange  buds  and  passion  flowers 
Lattice  hymeneal  bowers, 

Over  there  ; 


242  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

Violets  and  heliotropes 
Pant  along  the  purple  slopes, 

Over  there ; 

Fringed  eyes  of  genlianelles. 
Drowsing  in  the  dreamy  dells, 
Are  by  wooing  zephyrs  kissed 
Into  humid  amethyst. 

Over  there : 

All  the  heavenly  creatures  born 
Of  the  breeze,  the  dew,  the  morn, 
Still  divinelier  breathe  and  blow. 
Drape  their  purple,  drift  their  snow. 
Quaff  their  crimson,  sheen  their  go.«i, 
Throb  their  odors  manifold 
On  the  palpitating  air, 
On  the  back-impulsing  air 

Over  there. 

'•  Oh,  the  royal  forests  growing 

Over  there  ! 
Breath  of  balsam  ever  blowing 

Over  there; 

Pine-trees  swing  their  odory  chime, 
Palm-trees  lift  their  plumy  prime, 
In  the  ever  Eden-time 

Over  there ; 

And  a  passionate  perfume 
Thrills  the  dim,  delicious  gloom. 
Starrj-  with  the  blossomed  planets 
Of  the  scarlet  pomegranates 

Over  there. 

u  Through  arcades  of  fig  and  myrtle, 

Over  there, 
Mailed  insects  flash  and  hurt'.. 

In  the  air ; 

O'er  the  dewy  groves  of  spice 
Floats  the  bird  of  Paradise, 

Over  there ; 

Other  lustrous  birds  are  winging 
Lower  flights  for  sweeter  singing. 


OR,  HIGHER  THAN   IIAITIXKSS.  -_>j;i 

And  their  silver-throated  story 
Filleth  all  the  woods  with  glory 
Over  there. 

"  Tendrilled  bowers  are  always  vining 

Over  there ; 
Bloomy  grapes  are  always  wining 

Over  th<  re ; 

Pendulous  and  brown  bananas 
Ripen  in  the  warm  savannas, 
Tolling  refluent  hosannas 
On  the  sleepy,  scented  air, 

Over  there. 

"No  salt  tears  the  ground  are  drenching 

Over  there ; 
Faint  with  fear  no  form  is  blenching 

Over  there ; 

And  no  lifted  hands  are  reaching 
In  a  frantical  beseeching 

Over  there. 

"  No  more  desperate  endeavors, 
No  more  separating  evers, 
No  more  desolating  nevers 
Over  there." 

"  That  is  glowing  as  the  sunset,  and  affluent  as  an 
India  ship  freighted  with  spices.  Commend  me  to  a 
woman  for  gathering  up  and  hiving  the  genuine  Hymet- 
tns  honey  of  poesy." 

Not  many  days  after  their  return  from  Glenwood,  Mr. 
Sunderland  came  in  with  an  unusually  grave  face. 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Godwin  which  tells  me 
that  Mr.  Perley  has  given  up  the  deeds,  but  refuses 
either  to  return  the  money,  or  to  leave  the  country.  He 
evidently  trusts  to  your  reluctance  to  appear  in  court. 
Mr.  Godwin,  justly  incensed,  has  had  him  arrested,  and 
the  time  of  trial  is  fixed  for  the  fourteenth  of  April." 


244  MARION  GRAHAM: 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

"  I  have  thought 

Too  long  and  darkly,  till  my  brain  became 
In  its  own  eddy  boiling  and  o'erwrought, 
A  whirling  gulf  of  phantasy  and  flame, 
And  thus,  untaught  in  youth  my  heart  to  tame. 
My  springs  of  life  were  poisoned." 

ON  returning  from  school  one  day,  Marion  found  two 
I  r-ters  on  her  table.  One  was  in  the  hand-writing  of 
Lenora.  The  other  had  a  foreign  post-mark,  and  wa.s 
a  letter  she  had  been  looking  for  with  feverish  impa- 
tience. She  turned  it  over  and  over,  trying  to  still  her 
throbbing  heart,  and  then,  woman-like,  laid  it  carefully 
in  her  writing  desk,  and  opened  Lenora's. 

"  Your  cousin  Julia  and  I  have  become  quite  intimate. 
She  is  a  dear  little  affectionate  soul,  full  of  grace  and 
confidingness,  with  a  lord  who  worships  her,  and  has 
just  sense  enough  (not  an  ounce  more),  to  keep  from 
spoiling  her.  Her  tiny  Marion  is  now  six  weeks  old, 
and,  I  dare  say,  will  be  a  paragon  of  babies ;  but  I  can 
as  yet  perceive  very  few  of  those  charms  which  set  her 
young  mother  raving  about  her. 

It  is  enough  to  make  old  Hilary  laugh  to  see  the 
whole  family  assembled  together;  for  it  is  time  you 
should  know  that  Julia  got  homesick  in  her  new  estab- 
lishment ;  and  nothing  would  do  but  it  must  be  sold, 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  £45 

trappings  and  all.  So  they  are  back  again  at  the  old 
gentleman's.  They  constitute  a  genuine  Mutual  Admi- 
ration Society.  Mr.  McKinstry  never  makes  his  appear- 
ance but  that  Julia  must  besiege  him  with  caresses, 
calling  him  a  darling  old  fellow,  and  so  on.  Of  course 
he  is  obliged,  being  sold  you  see,  to  pay  her  in  the  cur- 
rent coin ;  and  thus  I  am  made  the  blessed  witness  of 
a  real  honey-mooning. 

When  her  father  appears,  she  is  still  more  patronix- 
ing.  '  You  blessed  love  of  an  old  man,'  with  a  flood 
of  appropriate  blandishments.  By  this  time,  little  queen 
Marion  is  brought  upon  the  stage,  and  after  being  oh-ed 
and  ah-ed  to  satiety,  she  is  assailed  with  a  perfect 
shower  of  baby-talk,  and  a  most  wonderful  series  of  en- 
dearments. I  sometimes  feel  that  it  is  a  desecration  to 
call  the  gypsy  after  you.  But  all  is  sincere,  if  not 
profound;  and  I  am  getting  really  attached  to  Julia, 
only  I  don't  fancy  being  called  '  a  lovely  puss,'  '  a 
charming  mouse,'  and  various  other  sundries  of  kindred 
nature. 

And  now  for  my  plan.  Father  defers  our  travels  till 
fall ;  so  in  June  I  am  coming  to  Uncle  Austin's,  chiefly 
to  make  you  a  visit,  understand.  And  next  September 
I  am  determined  to  have  you  with  me  in  Fifth  Avenue ; 
where  I  shall  expect  you  to  be  in  subjection  to  my  lady- 
ship, as  you  now  are  to  one  I  wot  of.  By  the  by,  has 
he  yet  attained  to  the  dignity  of  a  ferule  as  a  needed 
ally  to  the  sustainment  of  his  crown  ?  " 

Having  laughed  over  this  letter,  Marion  drew  her 
chair  to  the  fire,  and  waited  for  the  tea-summons.  On 
returning  again  to  her  room,  with  great  composure  she 
took  the  foreign  epistle  from  her  desk,  and  quietly  seated 


246  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

herself  at  the  table.  But  she  has  in  nowise  deceived 
us.  Beneath  the  calm  exterior  we  have  seen  the  inward 
rushing  of  the  tide,  and  we  can  hear  the  beatings  of  her 
heart  as  she  reads  her  communication  from  London. 

"  It  would  be  a  relief  to  me,  Miss  Graham,  did  I  dare 
express  my  depth  of  sympathy  for  you  in  your  great  be- 
reavement, and  in  the  accompanying  trials  of  which 
you  make  no  mention,  but  of  which  I  have  heard  from 
others.  I  cannot,  however,  trust  myself  to  follow  this 
impulse,  as  it  would  inevitably  lead  me  upon  forbidden 
ground.  And  I  must  content  myself  with  saying  that 
every  pang  which  pierces  your  heart,  pierces  mine  also. 
That,  with  such  a  burden  of  sorrow  laid  upon  you,  you 
should  still  remember  me,  is  most  grateful  to  my  feel- 
ings. And  while  I  warmly  appreciate  your  kind  inter- 
est, I  am  not  without  reverence  for  the  spirit  your  letter 
breathes.  It  tempts  me  more  fully  to  open  my  heart, 
and  give  you  some  of  the  reasons  which  have  made  me 
a  miserable  sceptic. 

You  yourself  will  not  deny  that  the  world  is  sadly 
out  of  joint.  At  times  the  universe  seems  to  me,  '  void 
of  life,  of  purpose,  of  volition,  a  huge,  dead,  unmeasurable 
steam-engine,  rolling  on  in  its  dead  indifference  to  grind 
rne  limb  from  limb.'  Again  it  is  an  arch-foe,  waking  up 
ihrough  its  illimitable  regions  million-voiced  woes,  and. 
with  a  sardonic  smile,  triumphing  in  its  malignant 
power. 

In  the  lower  creation,  I  find  ugliness  everywhere  in- 
congruously wedded  to  beauty.  The  thistle  and  the 
night-bane  spring  up  among  the  fairest  flowers,  and 
thorns  grow  upon  the  same  stem  with  the  rose.  The 
apples  of  Sodom  are  mingled  with  the  choice  clusters 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN"    HAPPINESS.  247 

of  Eshcol,  and  beside  the  stately  tree  with  it>  odorous 
gums,  stands  the  Upas,  forever  dripping  poison. 

If  I  ascend  into  the  sentient  world,  to  similar  discord- 
ant elements,  I  find  added  the  sharp  cry  of  suffering. 
The  involuntary  movements  of  the  larger  beasts  cause 
destruction  to  thousands  of  the  smaller  tribes.  Loath- 
some insects  and  venomous  reptiles  carry  terror  and 
death  among  the  noblest  and  most  innocent  of  animals, 
while  myriads  of  happy,  floating  ephemera  are  con- 
tinually slaughtered  in  the  very  dawn  of  their  existence. 
And  what,  Miss  Graham,  can  you  say  in  defence  of 
that  organized  system  of  prey,  by  which  some  animals 
are  formed  expressly  to  subsist  upon  others  ?  Does  all 
this  breathe  of  love?  Alas!  ghastly  death,  with  the 
multifarious  and  frightful  ills  which  precede  it,  casts  a 
terrific  shadow  over  the  whole  earth.  No  species,  no 
individual,  is  exempt  from  the  curse. 

On  that  remembered  day.  I  told  you  that  if  there  was 
a  God,  his  government  seemed  reckless,  if  not  ruthless. 
It  was  no  hasty  conviction,  but  one  that  has  struck  its 
roots  into  the  depths  of  my  being.  The  face  that  looks 
out  to  me  from  the  earth  and  sky  is  hot  one  of  love,  but 
a  cold  and  stern,  if  not  a  malevolent  face. 

Though  many  a  tragic  tale  has  been  written  in 
blood,  yet  no  pen  can  adequately  describe  the  various 
woes  which  afflict  our  race.  Tantalus-like,  we  thirst 
for  what  we  cannot  reach.  We  grasp  pleasure,  and 
find  her  but  a  shadow  that  tauntingly  mocks  us  as  she 
flie<.  Wisdom,  standing  on  the  mountain-top  in  the 
crimson  dawn,  tempts  us  with  her  radiant  brow  and  her 
beckoning  hand.  With  unswerving  purpose,  our  feet 
toil  wearily  up  the  steep,  and  as  the  shadows  lengthen 
we  reach  the  summit,  to  discover,  too  late,  that  the  form 


248  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

we  have  so  yearned  to  embrace  is  wrapped  in  an  im- 
penetrable veil.  We  fall  heart-broken  at  her  feet, 
our  life-toil  unrecompensed.  Or  the  soul  that  has  wings 
to  cleave  the  blue  vault  is  bound  in  an  iron  cage,  and 
base  poverty  is  the  jailer,  feeding  it  on  the  pettiest 
cares,  or  tempting  it  to  freedom  through  the  black  gate- 
way of  crime. 

As  a  brighter  picture,  you  may  point  me  to  the  exhi- 
bition of  the  kindly  sentiments.  Alas ! 

'  Few  find  what  they  love  or  could  have  loved, 
Though  accident,  blind  contact,  and  the  strong 
Necessity  of  loving,  have  removed 
Antipathies.' 

And  then  there  is  the  long  gauntlet  to  run,  of  misun- 
derstandings and  neglects  ;  alienations,  and  changes,  and 
separations; — with  death  to  close  the  rear.  Thus  in  vain 
do  we  pant  for  clear  light,  for  celestial  flowers  and 
fruits.  In  the  merriest  laughter  and  the  gladdest  music 
is  ever  mingled  sorrow's  low  refrain. 

1  Imagine,'  says  Pascal,  ;  a  number  of  men  in  chains, 
and  all  condemned  to  die,  and  that,  while  some  are 
slaughtered  daily  in  sight  of  their  companions,  those 
who  yet  remain  see  their  own  sad  destiny  in  that  of 
the  slain,  and,  gazing  on  each  other  in  hopeless  sorrow, 
•vwait  their  doom.  This  is  a  picture  of  the  condition 
f  human  nature.' 

Such  is  the  universal  dominion  of  sorrow.  And  he 
who  is  capable  of  a  more  exquisite  happiness  than  his 
fellows,  is  also  susceptible  of  a  misery  proporiionably 
keener  than  theirs.  "Who  can  weigh  the  accumulated 
burden  of  woe  pressing  down  many  a  heart  that  throbs 
beneath  a  calm  exterior?  or  estimate  the  unavailing 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  249 

sorrow  of  a  benevolent  soul,  over  ills  which  he  has  no 
power  io  remedy?  —  unrequited  affection,  deceived  confi- 
dence, disappointed  hope,  and  an  infinitude  of  sufferings 
that  no  law  can  reach,  or  in  any  wise  control! 

To  my  own  trials,  Miss  Graham,  I  could  oppose  a 
resolute  will.  But  my  fellows ;  — '  Poor,  wandering, 
wayward  man!  Art  thou  not  tried  and  beaten  with 
stripes,  even  as  I  am  ?  Ever,  whether  thou  bear  the 
royal  mantle  or  the  beggar's  gabardine,  art  thou  not  so 
weary,  so  heavy  laden  ?  And  thy  bed  of  rest  is  but  a 
grave.' 

But  the  social  evils  which  oppress  humanity  present, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  even  a  darker  view.  What  gloating 
sensuality,  what  sharp  and  wrangling  cruelty,  and  what 
cold-blooded  oppression  cover  the  face  of  the  earth  ! 
while  Crime,  Briareus-hancled  and  with  bloodshot  eyes, 
stands  upon  every  highway,  and  the  demon  of  War 
tramps  from  continent  to  continent. 

The  world,  tricked  out  in  the  garments  of  virtue, 
c-omes  upon  the  stage  with  a  mincing  step,  glittering  in 
jewelry  and_gcro\vned  with  garlands,  while  music  and 
dancing  breathe  around  her  their  meretricious  charms. 
But  go  behind  the  curtains,  where  her  mask  drops  and 
her  tinselry  and  gewgaws  fall  from  her,  —  and  you  dis- 
cover her  rottenness  and  deformity.  Her  chaplets  are 
turned  to  ashes,  and,  instead  of  the  gay  viol  and  the 
bounding  step,  you  have  but  groans  and  curses.  Such 
poverty  and  degradation  and  immeasurable  misery 
everywhere  meet  the  eye  ;  —  there  is  such  a  rioting  of 
the  senses,  such  a  dethronement  of  reason,  and  such  an 
unrighteous  triumphing  of  vice  over  virtue,  that  the 
appalled  heart  cries  out,  « Is  there  a  God  in  heaven  ? ' 

What.    Miss    Graham,  should  we  say  of  a  father, 


250  MARION   GRAHAM  : 

whose  whole  family  was  in  anarchy  and  rebellion,  but 
that  he  was  most  unfit  for  his  position  ?  Alas,  for  the 
gross  misrule,  and  the  wild  disorder  in  the  great  family 
of  man ! 

'  We  wither  from  our  youth,  we  gasp  away  — 
Sick  —  sick;  unfound  the  boon  —  unslaked  the  thirst. 
Though  to  the  last,  in  verge  of  our  decay, 
Some  phantom  lures,  such  as  we  sought  at  first  — 
But  all  too  late,  —  so  are  we  doubly  curst. 
Love,  fame,  ambition,  avarice,  —  'tis  the  same, 
Each  idle  and  all  ill,  and  none  the  worst  — 
For  all  are  meteors  with  a  different  name, 
And  Death  the  sable  smoke  where  vanishes  the  flame.' " 

For  long  hours,  Marion  yearned  over  Maurice  as  a 
mother  yearns  over  a  sick  child.  But  why  was  it  that 
she  dwelt  with  such  a  lingering  pleasure  on  the  first  few 
lines  of  the  letter  ?  If  there  was  any  inconsistency  in 
this,  it  was  one  by  no  means  a  stranger  to  woman's 
heart. 

The  night  watches  passed  slowly,  but  with  the  morn- 
ing light  the  strength  to  endure  returned.  She  was  now 
reading '  Faust '  with  Mr.  Sunderland.  But  although  she 
entered  into  the  study  of  this  drama  with  great  enthusi- 
asm, her  enjoyment  was  tempered  with  sadness  from 
her  vivid  recollection  of  the  past.  This  sadness  in- 
creased as  she  was  constantly  reminded  of  the  unbeliev- 
ing, almost  despairing  spirit  of  Maurice,  in  contrast 
with  the  trusting,  hopeful  one  of  her  present  companion 
in  study. 

They  had  frequent  discussions  concerning  Goethe  ; 
Marion,  from  her  warm  admiration,  inclining  to  give 
him  a  higher  rank  as  a  moralist  than  Mr.  Sunderland 
could  do. 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  251 

"  But  is  not  this  wonderful  drama  full  of  the  mos' 
impressive  lessons  ?  " 

"  Without  a  doubt,  as  A  understand  it ;  although  there 
is  a  great  diversity  ol'  opinion  among  literary  men  as  to 
its  true  import.  But  with  due  respect  to  the  savans,  it 
seems  to  me  to  represent  the  struggle  between  man's 
spiritual,  and  carnal  01  lower  nature,  the  dominance  of 
the  latter  being  symbolized  by  the  temporary  Iriumph 
of  Mephistopheles.  Now  here  was  a  grand  theme  for 
a  philosophical  artist  It  is  admirably  handled,  and  the 
lessons  it  teaches  are  of  vital  importance.  This,  how- 
ever, only  shows  of  what  Goethe  was  capable,  and  by  no 
means  lessens  the  evidence  of  his  blameworthiness. 
But  I  fear  you  will  regard  me  as  rather  ungracious  thus 
to  damp  your  enthusiasm." 

"  It  is  painful  of  course  to  have  our  heroes  brought 
down  from  their  pedestal.  Still  I  wish  to  have  my  judg- 
ment correct." 

"  I  admire  no  less  than  you  his  comprehensive  and 
unrivalled  genius.  I  also  fully  appreciate  his  sterling 
good  sense,  his  freedom  from  pretension  and  affectation, 
his  entire  exemption  from  jealousy,  and  that  kindly  but 
rare  generosity  which  rendered  him  so  quick  to  discern, 
and  so  ready  to  acknowledge,  every  shade  of  merit  in 
others.  But,  with  this  unusual  combination  of  excellen- 
ces, I  am  compelled  to  admit  some  striking  deficiencies, 
which  make  questionable  his  claim  to  the  highest  moral 
greatness.  In  his  devotion  as  a  priest  of  nature,  he 
appears  to  regard  nothing  as  too  precious  to  be  immo- 
lated on  her  altar.  His  boundless  worship  of  art,  in 
every  department,  seems  to  have  congealed  in  him  the 
common  humanity.  Tearing  open  the  soul,  he  detects 
and  analyzes  its  deepest  and  holiest,  as  well  as  its 


252  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

basest  passions,  —  with  a  master's  hand,  indeed,  but  with 
a  cold-bloodedness  that  makes  you  fancy  you  detect  in 
him  something  of  his  own  Mephistopheles." 

"  This  is  truly  a  sad  view." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  your  ideal  of  the  great  poet. 
But,  though  clearly  not  a  moralist,  neither  perhaps  can 
he,  in  strict  parlance,  be  termed  an  mmoralist.  What 
I  deplore  is  the  seeming  absence  of  a  nice  sense  of  moral 
ob'igation.  He  may  not,  indeed,  have  been  without 
some  general  desire  to  do  good ;  but  the  deliberate  pur- 
pose to  elevate  his  fellow  men,  or  even  in  any  way  to 
ameliorate  their  woes,  seems  never  to  have  entered  his 
thoughts  as  a  high,  fixed  resolve ;  —  to  have  been  no 
part  of  his  great  life-business.  If,  in  his  supreme  hom- 
age to  art,  he  is  led  to  portray  the  triumph  of  virtue,  it 
is  well ;  if  that  of  vice,  it  is  just  as  well.  And  what  is 
worse,  the  instincts  of  common  delicacy,  his  friends,  — 
every  thing  in  short,  is  sacrificed  without  scruple  to 
artistic  effect" 

"  Worse  indeed,  if  this  be  really  'so !  With  all  bis 
noble  gifts,  must  you  then  regard  him  as  cold,  egotistic, 
and  selfish  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  wish,  Miss  Graham,  to  pronounce  judg- 
ment upon  him.  My  early  admiration  was  as  bound- 
less as  your  own  can  be.  And,  for  a  long  time,  I  would 
not  credit  the  charges  brought  against  him,  so  reluctant 
was  I  to  believe  that  he  could  thus  abuse  his  transcen- 
dent powers.  It  gave  me  acute  pain  to  learn  of  his 
unworthy  trifling  with  the  beautiful  and  innocent  Fred- 
erica  of  Sesenheim,  which  he  so  coolly  records  in  his 
Autobiography,  for  the  sake,  apparently,  of  an  effective 
scene.  His  thoughtless  betrayal  of  the  confidence  of 
his  tried  friends  Kestner  and  Lotte,  and  his  making 


OH,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  25.°) 

the  latter  notorious  as  his  heroine  in  the  'Sorrows 
of  Werther,'  —  is  a  melancholy  instance  of  his  care- 
less trampling  upon  character,  and  playing  with  the 
finest  sensibilities,  in  his  desire  to  produce  an  interest- 
ing tale.  Then,  his  entire  want  of  sympathy  with  Ger- 
many, in  her  long  and  hard  struggles  against  oppres- 
sion, seems  an  unpardonable  sin  in  one  so  eminently 
gifted  to  sound  the  clarion  notes  of  courage  in  the  ears 
of  his  suffering  countrymen.  In  the  face  of  my  hero- 
worship,  I  was  Ihus  unwillingly  forced  to  acknowledge 
that  my  paragon  was  wanting  in  some  of  the  highest 
elements  of  character;  —  and  that,  on  system,  he  was 
accustomed  to  sacrifice  the  dearest  interests,  and  the 
most  sacred  claims  of  friend  and  country,  when  they 
came  into  collision  with  his  own  comfort,  or  pleasure,  or 
his  love  of  art" 

"  I  have  seen  an  end  of  all  perfection,"  said  Marion 
with  a  sigh. 

"  You  may  well  say  so.  But,  thank  God,  we  have 
one  faultless  model,  '  holy,  harmless,  undefiled.'  " 

Mr.  Mayimrd  and  Bessie  had  written,  informing 
Marion  of  the  sudden  death  of  their  little  Maurice, 
and  at  the  same  time  renewing  their  invitation  to  her 
for  the  summer.  And  she  had  promised  to  visit  them 
soon  after  her  release. 

In  her  earnest  labors  for  self-culture,  as  well  as  in 
efforts  for  the  highest  good  of  her  pupils,  the  weeks  trod 
by,  not  indeed  on  fairy  feet,  yet  bearing  with  them  the 
sustaining  consciousness  that  she  was  gaining  ground, 
us  well  as  doing  right. 

But  while  her  outward  life  thus  flowed  on  in  quiet- 
ness, there  was  an  under-current  which  no  one  sue- 

13 


l';>4  MAUTOX    GRAHAM  ; 

pected.  The  melancholy  tone  of  Maurice's  letter  was 
constantly  echoing  in  her  heart  and  Touching  the  spring.- 
of  deep  emotion.  She  wrote  over  many  sheets  before 
she  could  satisfy  herself  in  her  answer,  but  at  length 
she  sent  the  following :  — 

:'  Your  letter,  Mr.  Vinton,  was  so  sad  and  so  sadden- 
ing, that  I  can  hardly  find  heart  for  a  reply.  Well  do 
I  know  that  the  shadows  of  life  are  dense  and  fearfully 
deep.  And  to  view  them  softened  by  no  glimmerings 
of  light,  must  be  to  dwell  in  Cimmerian  darkness. 
Rest  assured  of  my  true  sympathy,  and  of  my  prayers 
that,  our  great  Father  may  lead  you  into  his  own  truth 
and  light.  You  say  pleasure  mockingly  flies  from  our 
embrace.  And  how  can  it  be  otherwise,  since  mortal 
good  was  not  designed  to  satisfy  the  immortal  nature  i 
Surely  it  is  a  proof  of  the  love  of  God,  that  we  find  no 
rest  short  of  the  soul's  infinite  centre. 

The  world  is  indeed  full  of  mystery  and  of  misery ; 
yet  I  cannot  for  one  moment  admit  that  its  Governor  is 
chargeable  with  a  ruthless  or  a  reckless  administration. 
You  will  not  deny  that  the  design  everywhere  manifest 
in  creation  is  a  beneficent  one.  All  philosophers,  I 
suppose,  concede  that  pleasure  is  the  normal  expression 
of  the  senses,  while  pain  is  only  a  liability  or  accident, 
and  even  then  often  comes  as  a  warning  to  deter  from 
greater  evils. 

For  the  system  of  prey  which  you  think  argues  a 
want  of  benevolence,  do  you  not  find  some  compensa- 
tion in  the  greater  fecundity  of  those  species  most 
exposed  to  it,  and  the  consequent  increase  of  happy 
animal  life  ?  And  death  in  this  form  is  usually  attended 
with  less  suffering,  than  as  the  result  of  sickness  and 


OR,    HItiHKK    T!I\N    HAI'l'INKSS.  255 

decay.  Besides,  death  in  the  animal  world  is  regarded 
as  having  secured  that  advance  from  the  lower  to  the 
higher  organisms  which  has  been  discovered  by  geol- 
ogy ;  and  thus  seems  to  be  a  necessary  condition  of 
organic  progress.  You  may  still  argue  that  such  an 
arrangement  indicates  the  want  of  wisdom,  or  of  power. 
I  can  only  say  that,  in  my  view,  the  evidence  in  favor 
of  God's  goodness,  as  well  as  of  his  wisdom  and  power, 
far  exceeds  that  which  can  be  arrayed  against  these 
attributes.  And  I  can  rest  quietly  in  this  evidence, 
feeling  assured  that  many  things  now  inexplicable  to  our 
finite  faculties,  will,  in  the  spiritual  world,  be  made  plain. 

And  yet,  Mr.  Vinton,  I  must  frankly  acknowledge 
that  I  am  at  times  most  painfully  oppressed  by  the  dis- 
cords and  the  apparent  incongruities  of  life.  The  love- 
liness of  earth  has  indeed  been  marred  by  the  trail  of 
the  serpent  !  I  am  not  versed  in  theology,  but  it  has 
always  been  my  individual  belief,  that  it  was  in  connec- 
tion with  man's  lapse  from  holiness,  either  prospective 
or  consequent,  that  thorns  and  thistles  sprang  up,  and 
inharmonious  elements  were  introduced,  thus  despoiling 
our  fair  heritage  of  much  of  its  beauty  and  its  glory, 
and  reflecting,  in  the  view  of  man,  his  own  perverted 
humanity.  Why,  indeed,  may  we  not  accept  the  New 
Church  view  that  as  all  good  things  are  from  the  Lord, 
all  evil  things  originate  in  hell? 

Your  painting  of  human  life,  dark  as  it  is,  I  cannot 
charge  with  being  overdrawn.  But  you  represent  it 
only  on  one  side.  It  wears  an  aspect  of  happiness  as 
unmistakable  as  that  of  misery.  It  is  indeed  true  that 
sorrow  is  a  universal  presence,  shading  every  earthly 
joy.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  in  a  world  where  sin 
reigns  ?  And  ought  we  not  to  consider  that  this  is  our 


o.-,*)  MARION    GRAHAM  : 

season  of  training,  and  that  sorrow  is  the  divine  dis- 
cipline suited  to  fit  us  for  a  higher  life  ?  '  For  our  light 
affliction,  which  is  but  for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us  :i 
far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory.'  Our 
blessed  Master  was  made  perfect  through  suffering,  and 
thus  also  may  we  be  purified,  if  he  sits  beside  us  while 
we  are  in  the  furnace,  refining  us  '  as  silver  is  refined/ 
I  love  to  think  of  sorrow  as  man's  ministering  angel, 
subduing  his  selfishness,  kindling  his  energies,  filling 
him  with  gentlest  sympathies,  awaking  the  noblest  pur- 
poses, and  thus  making  him  the  benefactor  of  his  race. 
I  admit  that  her  lessons  may  be  perverted,  and  the 
heart  grow  cold  and  hard  under  her  teachings ;  but 
such  is  not  her  legitimate  influence. 

k  Because  she  bears  the  pearl  that  makes  the  shell-fish  sore, 
Be  thankful  for  the  grief  that  but  exalts  thee  more  : 
The  sweetest  fruit  grows  not  when  the  tree's  sap  is  fall. 
The  spirit  is  not  ripe  till  meaner  powers  grow  doll. 
Spring  weaves  a  spell  of  odors,  colors,  sounds ; 
Come,  Autumn,  free  the  soul  from  these  enchanted  bound-. 
My  tree  was  thick  with  shades ;  O  blast,  thine  office  do, 
And  strip  the  foliage  off  to  let  the  heaven  shine  through. 
They're  wholly  blown  away,  bright  blossoms  and  green  leaves : 
They're  brought  home  to  the  barn,  all  colorless  the  sheaves.' 

Ah,  Mr.  Vinton,  from  the  divine  depths  of  sorrow, 
there  often  radiates  a  heavenly  sunshine,  —  a  genial  influ- 
ence, which  ripens  and  strengthens  and  ennobles  the 
character.  Is  not  the  mother  of  Alice  an  illustration  of 
this? 

While,  however,  sorrow  is  thus  allied  to  good,  I  am 
aware  that  the  difficulty  is  by  no  means  removed.  But 
if  brought  in*o  a  darkness  where  I  cannot  see,  I  can 
still  tm*f.  Of  what  use  is  faith,  unless  it  can  lead  u* 


OB,    UK; HER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  257 

across  these  terrible  bridges  of  doubt  ?  The  mystery 
of  sorrow  is  involved  in  the  still  deeper  mystery  of  sin. 
Indeed,  does  not  this  one  great  cause,  in  itself  inexpli- 
cably dark  and  appalling,  throw  a  fa'n'  light  on  all  the 
other  difficulties  we  have  been  considering?  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  presence  of  sin  accounts  both  for  the  va- 
rious discords  in  the  natural  world,  and  for  the  physical 
and  social  disorders  of  humanity,  thus  causing  suffering 
to  wear  a  punitive  as  well  as  a  disciplinary  aspect. 

The  introduction  of  this  fatal  element  is  an  abyss, 
which  of  course  I  am  totally  unable  to  sound  ;  but,  thar 
it  in  nowise  militates  against  infinite  goodness,  I  am 
constrained  to  believe.  And  I  cannot  doubt  that  God 
will  finally  bring  great  good  out  of  this  fearful  evil. 

Did  you  ever  read  the  argument  in  Bulwer's  '  Student' 
for  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ?  The  one  who  is  pre- 
sented as  considering  the  question,  first  discovers  design 
in  the  Creation,  which  implies  an  active  and  intelligent 
Being.  Then  he  proceeds  to  the  attributes  revealed  in 
his  works,  —  wisdom,  power,  and  benevolence.  From 
these  combined  attributes,  he  infers  justice  as  a  neces- 
sity. But  here,  injustice  is  seen.  Vice  frequently  tri- 
umphs, while  goodness  goes  unrewarded.  Men  are 
trained  to  crime  from  their  childhood,  and  then  suffer 
penalties  from  following  an  education  they  could  not 
resist.  Clearly,  then,  this  world  is  not  the  theatre  for  the 
full  awards  of  justice;  therefore  there  must  be  a  future 
state  for  correct  and  final  adjustment. 

I  cannot  forbear  quoting  a  few  inspiring  verses  from 
Browning's  "  Abt  Vogler." 

"  There  shall  never  be  one  lost  good !    What  was,  shall  live  as  before ; 

The  evil  is  null,  is  naught,  is  silence  implying  sound; 
What  was  good,  shall  be  good,  with,  for  evil,  so  much  good  more; 

On  the  earth  the  broken  arcs;  in  the  heaven  a  perfect  round. 


258  MARION   GRAHAM; 

"  AH  we  have  willed  or  hoped  or  dreamed  of  good,  shall  exist; 

Not  its  semblance,  but  itself;  no  beauty,  nor  good,  nor  power 
Whose  voice  has  gone  forth,  but  each  survives  for  the  melodist. 

When  eternity  affirms  the  conception  of  an  hour. 
The  high  that  proved  too  high,  the  heroic  for  earth  too  hard. 

The  passion  that  left  the  ground  to  lose  itself  in  the  sky, 
Are  music  sent  up  to  God  by  the  lover  and  the  hard: 

Enough  that  he  heard  it  once:  we  shall  hear  it  by  and  by. 

'And  what  is  our  failure  here  but  a  triumph's  evidence 

For  the  fulness  of  the  days  ?  Have  we  withered  or  agonized  ? 
Whyelse  was  the  pause  prolonged  but  thatsinging  might  issue  thence? 

Why  rushed  the  discords  in  but  that  harmony  should  be  prized  ? 
Sorrow  is  hard  to  bear,  and  doubt  is  slow  to  clear; 

Each  sufferer  says  his  say,  his  scheme  of  the  weal  and  woe; 
But  God  has  a  few  of  us  whom  he  whispers  in  the  ear; 

The  rest  may  reason  and  welcome;  'tis  we  musicians  know." 

In  that  blessed  world,  Mr.  Vinton,  reparation  will  be 
fully  made  for  all  the  cruel  wrongs  of  life ;  and  there 
the  sorrowful  and  oppressed  shall  lift  up  their  weary 
heads.  When,  by  God's  creating  hand,  this  globe  was 
swung  into  space,  and  fastened  in  its  wide  orbit,  hK< 
own  kingly  seal,  '  VERY  GOOD,'  was  affixed  to  it.  But 
sin  entered,  and  that  he  might  restore  the  harmony  it 
had  broken,  our  Lord 

'  Forsook  the  courts  of  everlasting  day, 
And  chose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mortal  clay.' 

Surely  this  was  a  gauge  of  love  which  infinity  alone 
could  give. 

Your  heart  aches  for  the  woes  of  our  fellow  men. 
And  was  not  that1  of  Jesus  moved  when  he  wept  over 
the  doomed  city  ?  nay,  was  not  his  whole  life  one  cease- 
less, burning  testimony  to  the  divine  compassion  that 
glowed  in  his  soul,  and  impelled  him  onward,  even  to 
Gethsemane's  garden  ;  —  that  led  him  up  the  cruel  steep 
of  Calvary,  and  nailed  him  to  the  malefactor's  cross  ? 
In  his  glorious  object  of  redeeming  the  race,  he  invitea 


OR,    HIGHKlt    THAN    HAPPINESS.  259 

us  all  to  be  co-workers  with  him.  Oh,  that  you  would 
be  persuaded  to  consecrate  your  energies  to  this  noble 
service !  But  I  may  be  taking  an  unwarrantable  lib- 
erty. If  so,  excuse  the  earnestness  of  one  who  does 
not  forget  to  pray  for  you. 

MARION  GRAHAM.'' 

The  eventful  14th  of  April  arrived.  The  place  of 
county  court  was  at  Barnwell,  midway  between  Glen- 
wood  and  Carrisford.  Mr.  Perley  had  engaged  as  his 
counsel  one  of  the  finest  special  pleaders  in  the  State, 
but  a  man  of  lax  principles. 

Polly  Somers  was  thoroughly  tortured  and  twisted, 
but  stood  to  her  text,  like  a  true  woman  as  she  was. 
Marion's  turn  at  length  came.  She  walked  in,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Morton,  and,  by  her  noble  bearing, 
made  an  immediate  impression  in  her  favor.  When 
called  to  confront  the  prisoner,  she  did  it  with  such  a 
calm  and  searching  look,  that  his  face  was  at  once 
blanched.  To  every  question  she  made  only  so  much 
reply  as  was  necessary,  all  who  heard  her  believing  that 
she  might  have  implicated  him  still  more. 

The  counsel  for  the  defence  laboriously  built  up  the 
character  of  Mr.  Perley,  reading  Judge  Graham's  letters 
to  him,  and  throwing  doubts  on  the  character  of  the 
chief  witness,  by  representing  her  as  an  artful,  in- 
triguing woman.  In  reply  to  the  charge  concerning 
the  note,  he  argued  that,  as  the  debt  was  saved  by  his 
client's  foresight,  the  profit,  whatever  it  was,  belonged 
to  him.  The  pleas  having  been  made,  the  jury  retired, 
but  quickly  returned  with  the  unanimous  verdict  of 
"Guilty"  Sentence  was  then  pronounced,  which  was 
confinement  for  five  years  in  state  prison. 


260  MARION  GRAHAM  ; 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

"  Ah,  well !  for  us  all  some  sweet  hope  lies 
Deeply  buried  from  human  eyes." 

THE  month  of  May  arrived,  vividly  recalling  to  Mar- 
ion the  last  happy  spring-time.  On  a  sweet  Saturday 
afternoon,  Mr.  Sunderland  invited  her  to  go  Maying. 
Any  request  from  him  of  this  nature  was  rather  unu- 
sual, and  she  hesitated  whether,  under  the  circum- 
stances, she  had  not  better  decline  it.  Observing  her 
hesitation,  he  said  with  marked  earnestness,  — 

"  Deny  me  at  any  other  time,  but  not  to-day,  Miss 
Graham." 

"  If  what  I  fear  is  in  reserve,"  she  thought,  "  the 
sooner  it  is  over  the  better."  And  she  hastened  to  pre- 
pare herself. 

Passing  out  of  the  village,  he  took  her  into  those 
same  woods  where  she  had  strolled  alone  the  first  day 
after  her  arrival  at  Carrisford.  She  alluded  to  that 
walk,  but  as  he  seemed  absent-minded,  she  made  no 
further  attempts  at  conversation.  When  they  reached 
a  pleasant  knoll  he  arranged  a  seat  for  her,  and  saying 
playfully,  "  Let  me  place  you  on  your  throne,"  he 
seated  himself  where  he  could  look  at  her. 

"  I  was  in  this  same  spot  last  night,  Miss  Graham  ; 
and  I  here  resolved,  that  to-day  I  would  ask  you  that 
question,  the  answer  to  which  must  settle  my  earthly 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  261 

destiny.  You  cannot  have  been  entirely  blind  to  the 
sentiment  you  have  awakened  in  me  ;  yet  you  have  no 
conception  of  its  depth  and  strength.  You  are  the 
only  woman  I  have  ever  loved.  I  have  waited  long 
before  venturing  on  this  declaration,  from  rny  entire 
uncertainty  as  to  your  feelings.  But  I  cannot  longer 
endure  suspense.  I  have  had  sweet  dreams  of  serving 
my  Master  with  you  for  my  ministering  angel ;  of 
loving  you  tenderly,  protectingly,  passionately ;  and  of 
receiving  in  return  the  wealth  of  your  loving  heart.  It 
is  fearful,  I  know,"  he  continued,  as  she  sat  with  her 
face  covered,  utterly  unable  to  interrupt  him,  "  to  hazard 
one's  all  on  a  single  venture,  but  I  have  no  alternative. 
Say,  Miss  Graham,  can  you  love  me  ?  " 

Poor  Marion  sat  bowed  with  sorrow,  while  not  a 
word  was  at  her  command.  Alas !  in  listening  to  his 
tale  of  love,  no  such  sudden  bloom  had  mantled  over 
her,  as  in  some  bright  moments,  he  had  ventured  to  pic- 
ture to  himself.  After  gazing  upon  her  for  an  instant 
in  silence,  with  a  tone  of  the  deepest  sadness  he  in- 
quired, — 

"  Have  I  displeased  you  ?  " 

With  this  question,  resolution  came,  and,  looking  into 
his  face  with  her  clear,  truthful  eyes,  she  answered, — 

"  God  knows  that  I  am  unworthy  such  love  as  yours. 
Your  friendship  has  been  to  me  more  than  words  can 
telL  I  have  often  desired  to  open  my  whole  heart  to 
you,  and  most  earnestly  do  I  now  wish  that  I  had  done 
so.  Pity  me,  my  friend,  in  this  new  sorrow  of  being 
obliged  to  give  pain  to  one  of  the  noblest  spirits  God 
ever  made.  You  have  a  claim  to  the  undivided  heart 
of  any  one  you  can  honor  with  your  love.  I  have  not 
tmch  a  heart  to  give."  Her  voice  filtered  as  she  nrldril. 


262  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

"  I  love  Maurice  Vinton.  He  is  an  unbeliever,  and  we 
are  separated,  but  alas,  I  love  him  still." 

The  silence  of  the  grave  ensued.  Tears  were  raining 
from  Marion's  eyes,  while  a  deadly  pallor  overspread 
Mr.  Sunderland's  countenance,  and  cold  drops  stood  on 
his  forehead.  The  strong  spirit  quailed  in  the  terriblr 
struggle,  but  he  knew  where  to  look  for  strength.  Tak- 
ing her  hand,  and  pressing  a  kiss  upon  it,  he  gently  laid 
it  back  with  an  air  which  seemed  to  say  that  he  resigned 
forever  the  thought  of  possessing  it. 

"  My  dear  sister,  for  such  you  will  allow  me  to  con- 
sider you,  I  can  measure  something  of  your  suffering. 
Forget  all  I  have  said,  and  let  me  henceforth  be  to  you 
a  sympathizing  and  true-hearted  brother.  All  hearts 
are  in  the  hands  of  our  Father,  and  our  prayers  for  the 
wanderer  may  yet  be  heard.  Had  I  only  known  before, 
you  should  have  been  spared  this  pain." 

And  the  noble  man  buried  his  own  sorrows  in  the 
deep  grave  of  his  heart,  and  thought  only  how  he 
might  alleviate  hers.  Marion  could  merely  reply,  "  God 
bless  you,  my  brother ! "  Then,  heedless  of  the  spring- 
ing blossoms,  and  of  sweet  perfumes  swung  lavishly 
around  them,  they  walked  back  in  silence,  —  the  bright 
drama  closed. 

Leaving  Marion  at  her  door,  Mr.  Sunderland  took  a 
solitary  stroll  that  he  might  recover  his  composure  be- 
fore he  met  his  mother.  She  had  long  been  aware  of 
his  feelings,  and  had  not  quite  understood  the  delay, 
having  no  doubt  herself  of  a  happy  issue.  As  he  en- 
tered, he  attempted  some  playful  remark,  but  she  could 
not  be  thus  deceived. 

"Dear  Henry,"  she  exclaimed  in  tones  of  alarm, 
"  \vhat  has  happened  ?  " 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  263 

Kneeling  beside  her,  he  replied,  "  I  did  not  mean  to  tell 
you,  mother,  but  my  life-dream  is  ended." 

Softly  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his  forehead,  inquiring, 
—  "  How  is  it  possible,  my  son  ?  " 

"  She  loves  a  sceptic  ;  her  heart  will  not  cease  its  lov- 
ing, and  thus  her  earthly  happiness,  as  well  as  mine,  is 
wrecked." 

And  as  when  a  boy,  he  once  more  laid  his  head  in 
his  mother's  lap,  and  yielded  to  the  wild  torrent  of  emo- 
tion. She  did  not  seek  to  restrain  him,  but  as  she 
passed  her  hand  caressingly  over  his  locks,  her  own 
tears  fell  fast.  That  hour  between  mother  and  son  was 
one  never  to  be  forgotten.  At  length  he  looked  up 
with  serenity,  saying,  — 

"  The  storm  is  over  now,  and  God  helping  me,  it 
shall  not  return  again.  With  such  a  mother  to  care 
for  me,  I  cannot  be  very  unhappy.  And  we  both  will 
help  poor  Marion  to  bear  her  heavy  burden." 

As  out  of  a  breaking  heart  that  self-forgetting  wish 
arose,  the  light  of  heaven  shone  clearly  in  his  face.  His 
mother  pressed  him  to  her  bosom,  saying  in  a  cheerful 
tone,  — 

"God  will  help  you,  Henry." 

The  holy  day  arose  upon  them  in  loveliness,  —  a  real 
George  Herbert  Sabbath,  — 

••  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky." 

The  fresh  green  grass  glittered  all  over  with  jew- 
els; the  trees,  full  of  budding  beauty,  sent  out  a 
goodly  fragrance,  and  glad  concerts  were  heard  from 


264  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

every  copse  and  grove,  while  the  murmuring  waters 
sounded  forth  a  gentle  bass. 

When  Mr.  Sunderland  ascended  the  pulpit,  two 
hearts  beat  with  anxious  sympathy.  But  there  \vas  no 
need  for  fear.  God  had  hidden  him  in  his  pavilion. 
He  was  a  little  paler  than  usual,  and  when  he  com- 
menced, his  voice  was  slightly  tremulous.  These  were 
all  the  indications  of  the  fierce  tempest  that  had  swept 
over  him.  He  announced  as  his  text,  "  Be  of  good 
courage,  and  he  shall  strengthen  your  heart,  all  ye  who 
hope  in  the  Lord."  From  these  words  he  preached  a 
most  consolatory  discourse,  every  sentence  of  which  sank 
into  Marion's  soul. 

So  the  day  passed  by,  and  from  that  time  Henry 
Sunderland  seemed  like  his  old  self.  Even  his  mother 
was  in  part  deceived,  and  Marion  had  little  idea  that 
the  plucking  up  by  the  roots  of  the  tender  plant  of  love, 
was  as  if  an  earthquake  had  shaken  him  to  the  centre 
of  his  being. 

She  wrote  the  history  of  the  past,  and  enclosing  Mr. 
Vinton's  letters,  she  handed  the  whole  to  Mr.  Sunder- 
land, asking  his  counsels  and  prayers.  Over  her  sor- 
rows he  wept  tears  that  he  henceforth  denied  to  his 
own.  And  he  talked  with  her  freely  on  the  subject, 
supplying  her  with  books  which  assisted  her  in  her  re- 
plies to  Maurice. 

Their  German  studies,  which  for  a  time  had  been 
suspended,  were  resumed ;  and  they  also  read  together 
some  new  volumes  in  their  own  language. 

"  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Sunderland,  after  one  of  their  read- 
ings, "  that  Carlyle  is  a  decided  hero  with  you." 

"  I  certainly  have  the  warmest  admiration  of  him 
and  I  hope  you  do  not  dissent  from  me  in  this." 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  265 

"  Not  exactly,  for  I  too  admire  him.  Yet  I  am  forced 
to  throw  in  some  huts." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that.    Please  express  them,  however." 

"•  Let  me  commence  with  the  positives  then,  and  thus 
insure  your  patience  for  the  negatives.  I  think  he  i.s 
earnest,  generous,  and  sympathetic.  He  is  also  true  as 
the  polar  needle,  pursuing  to  the  death  formalities,  cants, 
hypocrisies,  and  all  falsities  whatsoever,  and  arousing 
every  power  of  the  soul  to  an  intense  activity.  But  his 
representations  are  often  one-sided  and  extravagant,  and 
thus  carry  the  influence  of  error.  And  though  he  has 
passages  which  breathe  a  deeply  religious  spirit,  yet  in 
other  places  the  self-reliant  philosophy  is  urged,  and  men 
are  given  to  understand  that  if  they  work  to  the  extent 
of  their  capacity,  they  will  have  fulfilled  the  end  of 
iheir  being." 

"  But  some  of  those  clarion  calls  to  labor  I  have  con- 
sidered as  among  his  finest  passages.  And  he  is  cer- 
tainly as  much  out  upon  all  mere  happiness-seekers  as 
any  minister  in  the  land.  I  could  hardly  overrate  the 
benefit  I  have  derived  from  '  Sartor  Resartus.'  I  have 
read  it  in  the  deep  night ;  and  under  its  spell  the 
mmult  of  passion  has  been  stilled,  and  heavenly  voices 
have  filled  the  solemn  air.  Nowhere  have  I  seen  the 
struggles  of  the  soul  so  graphically  portrayed.  The 
p  \ssage  from  '  The  Everlasting  No,'  to  '  The  Everlasting 
Yea,'  is  perfectly  thrilling  in  its  almost  terrific  strength, 
while  the  final  issue  breathes  the  sweet  hush  of  repose." 

Marion  spoke  with  feeling,  for  in  the  varied  and  pain- 
ful discipline  of  the  past  year,  her  favorite  "  Sartor  Re- 
sartus "  had  acquired  for  her  a  deeper  import  than  ever 
before. 

"  I  can  appreciate  your  enthusiasm,"  said   Mr.  Sun- 


266  MARION  GRAHAM; 

derland  earnestly.  "  On  all  these  subjects  his  utterances 
are  healthful,  manly,  and  truly  noble.  And  it  may  have 
been  as  foolish  for  me  to  enter  any  caveat,  as  to  fore- 
warn the  bee  that  there  is  poison  in  the  flower,  —  since 
he  gathers  only  their  honey." 

"  I  shall  not  release  you  from  the  buts,  notwithstand- 
ing." 

"You  forget  that  I  have  already  marshalled  forth 
some  of  them.  However,  if  you  are  covetous  of  objec- 
tions, I  will  add  that  my  chief  complaint  against  him 
is,  that  he  makes  this  earnest  working-  the  very  alpha 
and  omega  of  religion,  —  to  the  exclusion  of  many 
things  that  I  consider  of  vital  importance.  Yet,  to  a 
certain  extent,  I  can  say  amen  to  him  with  all  my  heart. 
I  hope  you  will  give  me  credit  for  so  much." 

"  Certainly  ;  but " 

«  But  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  nothing,  only  you  are  rather  hard  upon  my 
heroes.  I  fear  I  shall  lose  my  organ  of  reverence." 

"  Never,  my  friend,  while  the  matchless  character  of 
the  man  Christ  Jesus  is  fresh  in  your  memory.  But  as 
to  Carlyle,  I  would  not  of  course  constrain  your  as- 
sent" 

"  I  should  like  to  think  over  the  subject.  After  that, 
I  shall  be  able  to  plead  his  cause  more  skilfully,  or  else 
I  will  frankly  surrender." 

"  He  will  never  suffer  from  your  advocacy,  Miss  Gra- 
ham." 

"  Miss  Graham  ! "  repeated  she  with  emphasis.  "  I 
have  often  thought  your  address  rather  formal  from  a 
brother." 

"  I  will  gladly  call  you  by  your  first  name,  if  you  will 
do  the  same  bv  me." 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  267 

"  A  more  difficult  matter ;  but  if  you  wish  it,  I  will 
try." 

"  I  do  wish  it.  But  it  is  late,  so  good-night,  Ma- 
rion ! " 

"  Good-night,  brother  Henry !  " 

June  came,  and  with  it  Lenora  on  her  promised  visit, 
with  a  heart  as  fresh  and  true  as  ever.  She  exulted 
over  the  downfall  of  Mr.  Perley,  and  could  not  be  in- 
duced to  commiserate  him  in  the  least,  especially  as  he 
had  rudely  repelled  Mr.  Sunderland's  offer  to  loan  him 
books.  At  the  parsonage  she  was  cordially  welcomed  ; 
and  her  minister  quietly  assumed  his  old  Mentorship 
over  her. 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  cured  him  of 
his  tyranny  by  this  time,"  said  she  to  Marion,  after  hav- 
ing received  a  check  from  him  in  one  of  her  extravagant 
speeches. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  best  things  about  him,"  quietly 
replied  Marion,  "  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  it 
dropped." 

"  So  you  flatter  him  with  the  knowledge  that  you 
quite  enjoy  his  despotism,"  said  she  archly. 

"  I  allow  him  to  understand  that  I  rely  implicitly  upon 
his  sincerity  and  fidelity." 

"  But  honestly,  Miss  Propriety,  had  you  not  any  day 
rather  be  praised  than  blamed  ?  " 

"  I  could  never  trust  a  friend  who  had  not  discern- 
ment enough  to  perceive  my  faults,  and  true  interest 
enough  to  point  them  out" 

"A  clear  evasion.  I  ask  again,  —  is  not  praise  sweeter 
than  censure  ?  " 

"  I  will  answer  plainly,  imperative  Miss     A  kind  re- 


268  MARION  GRAHAM; 

buke  from  one  I  esteem,  is  sometimes  sweeter  to  me 
than  the  most  eloquent  words  of  praise." 

"  Bravissimo,  you  dear  little  saint.  Now,  Sir  Perfec- 
tion, I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  see  you  feed  her  with 
plenty  of  such  sweetness.  'Twill  ease  my  own  smart- 
ings  wonderfully." 

"  With  all  their  rebukes,  Mi^s  Lenora,  your  friends 
do  you  far  more  justice  than  you  sometimes  do  your- 
self." 

Lenora  blushed  at  the  compliment  evidently  concealed 
in  this  reproof;  for,  coming  from  the  source  it  did,  she 
knew  it  was  sincere.  But  struggling  against  her  emo- 
tion, she  exclaimed  with  bitterness,  — 

"  If  any  one  in  the  wide  world  understood  me,  I  should 
have  some  hope  for  myself,"  and  rushed  from  the  room. 

"  She  possesses  some  of  the  noblest  traits,"  said  Mr. 
Sunderland,  "  but  she  has  such  a  special  dislike  to  me, 
that  I  believe  I  always  call  forth  her  perversities." 

When  Marion  repeated  to  her  Mr.  Sunderland's  re- 
mark, a  smile  of  strange  triumph  lighted  her  face. 

"  I  shall  show  him  a  multitude  of  my  perversities 
yet,  sweet  Marion ;  so  you  need  not  try  to  buy  me 
over." 

For  some  days,  Marion  had  been  looking  for  tidings 
from  over  the  waters,  and  not  long  after  Lenora's 
arrival,  the  wished-for  missive  came. 

"  The  winds,  Miss  Graham,  have  wafted  me  across 
the  Channel,  and  now  I  am  in  this  wonderful  Paris, 
zealously  flitting  from  one  pleasure  to  another.  This 
gay  city  sits  as  the  aesthetic  queen  among  the  nations, 
preeminent  in  clothing  with  beauty  the  bald  realities 
of  life.  The  science  of  external  life  is  here  brought  to 


OR,    HKiHKIi    THAN    HAI'IMNKSS.  269 

such  perfection,  that  even  one  who  has  looked  into 
things,  and  discovered  of  what  pretences  they  are  made 
up,  might  be  almost  pardoned  for  embracing  a  delusion. 
Art  and  conventionalism  are  brought  to  so  high  a  cul- 
ture in  this  luxurious  hot-bed,  as  to  be  easily  mistaken 
for  nature  and  simplicity. 

Paris  furnishes  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  scenic  representa 
tion,  as  heartless  and  hollow,  as  it  is  attractive  and 
splendid.  Such  a  place  is,  to  me,  the  most  intense  and 
bitter  of  all  solitudes.  In '  a  desert,  although  we  find 
no  sympathy  from  nature,  it  at  least  does  not  mock  us 
with  its  perpetual  want  of  it.  The  atmosphere  I  am 
now  breathing  is  not  the  pure,  free  air  of  heaven,  but 
is  concocted  of  unwholesome  stimulants,  and  oppresses 
me  as  if  poisoned.  Why,  then,  you  may  ask,  do  1  seek 
this  excitement  ?  Simply  for  a  change,  Miss  Graham, 
—  for  variety  ;  —  because  any  thing  is  better  than  the 
intolerable  ennui  which  consumes  me. 

But  I  must  not  longer  evade  the  subject  of  your 
letter,  though  it  is  with  reluctance  that  I  return  to  a 
theme,  which  I  cannot  discuss  without  giving  you 
pain. 

You  evidently  perceive  the  same  confusion  and  mis- 
rule of  which  I  complain ;  and  you  are  constrained  to 
admit  that  there  is  no  spot  on  earth  inhabited  by  man. 
where  want  and  misery  do  not  exist.  The  difference 
between  us  is  simply  this :  —  You  have  faith.  I  have  it 
not.  It  is,  I  grant,  a  lovely  flower,  but  it  blossoms  not 
for  me.  I  am  so  constituted  that  I  must  have  evidence 
before  I  believe.  I  cannot  blindly  worship  a  Deity, 
who  presents  himself  to  my  reason,  if  not  as  positively 
malignant,  yet  as  wanting  in  the  noble  attributes  which 
the  heart  spontaneously  admires.  Do  you  say,  this  is 


270  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

irreverent  ?  But,  Miss  Graham,  where  my  adoration  is 
commanded,  do  I  not  owe  it  to  myself,  to  inquire 
whether  the  object  is  worthy  of  it  ?  What  is  a  credu- 
lous homage  worth?  I  must  therefore  challenge  the 
right  to  examine  the  character  and  claims  of  the  Su- 
preme, before  I  can  render  to  him  my  devotion.  I 
would  do  it  fairly,  and  with  no  overweening  confidence 
in  myself;  but  I  would  do  it  fearlessly  and  thoroughly, 
else  my  homage  is  forced,  and  not  one  whit  better  than 
that  which  the  cringing  minion  renders  to  a  hated 
despot.  For  a  long  time  I  have  been  intent  on  these 
inquiries.  I  have  sought  to  pursue  them  with  candor  ;  — 
of  what  avail  would  it  be  to  deceive  myself?  But,  so 
far,  my  conclusions  have  been  painfully  hostile  to  the 
claims  made  upon  me.  In  the  language  of  another,  I 
find,— 

'  That  Calvaries  are  everywhere,  whereon 
Virtue  is  crucified,  and  nails  and  spears 
Draw  guiltless  blood ;  that  sorrow  sits  and  drinks 
At  sweetest  hearts,  till  all  their  life  is  dry  ; 
That  Hell's  temptations,  clad  in  Heavenly  guise, 
And  armed  with  pain,  lie  evermore  in  wait 
Along  life's  path,  giving  assault  to  all,  — 
Fatal  to  most ;  that  death  stalks  through  the  earth, 
Choosing  his  victims,  sparing  none  at  last ; 
That  in  each  shadow  of  a  pleasant  tree, 
A  grief  sits  sadly  sobbing  to  its  leaves  ; 
And  that,  beside  each  fearful  soul,  there  walks 
The  dim,  gaunt  phantom  of  uncertainty, 
Bidding  it  look  before,  where  none  may  see, 

And  all  must  go ; 

.     .     .     God  forgive  me  !  but  I've  thought 
A  thousand  times,  that  if  I  had  his  power, 
Or  He  my  love,  we'd  have  a  different  world 
From  this  we  live  in.' 


UK.    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  271 

You  plead  that  pain  and  sorrow  are  often  severe 
taskmasters,  which  accomplish  wonders  in  disciplining 
the  character.  To  a  certain  extent  I  admit  this  plea. 
But  it  applies  only  to  an  extremely  limited  number  of 
the  myriad  on  myriads  of  cases  with  which  life  abounds. 
Suffering  is  often  the  most  exquisite,  where  there  is  no 
possibility  of  moral  benefit  as  the  result.  And  even 
those  instances  where  it  has  a  refining  influence,  offer 
no  solution  of  the  difficulty.  When  you  claim  that,  under 
the  administration  of  a  Being  of  infinite  love,  wisdom, 
and  power,  such  bitter  discipline  is  necessary,  as  a  part 
of  the  moral  system,  you  only  increase  the  tax  upon 
my  faith.  If  it  staggered  before,  you  have  now  imposed 
upon  it  a  burden  which  crushes  it  to  the  ground. 

In  referring  to  sin  as  the  explanation  of  misery,  you 
plunge  me  still  more  hopelessly  into  the  mire.  This  is 
the  profoundest  mystery  of  all,  and  one  for  which  I  see 
no  possibility  of  a  solution.  With  inexpressible  long- 
ings for  the  light,  I  have  studied  the  various  systems 
which  attempt  to  elucidate  this  subject.  The  theory  of 
4  Metaphysical  Imperfection,'  which  Leibnitz  advocates, 
and  which  was  previously  advanced  by  Augustine,  has 
no  weight  with  me.  And  that  so  great  a  theologian 
as  Chalmers  should  defend  it,  as  in  any  degree  unrid- 
dling the  enigma,  only  shows  how  strongly  he  felt  the 
pressure  of  the  unmanageable  theme. 

The  theory  of  '  Contrast '  equally  fails  to  meet  the 
difficulty.  The  former  of  these  theories  makes  sin  a 
mere  privation ;  the  latter  regards  it  as  a  negation,  con- 
sidering it  an  essential  ingredient  in  the  formation  of 
character.  They  both  confound  moral  with  mental 
deficiency,  and  by  regarding  sin  as  a  negative  pole  — 
the  necessary  counterpart  to  the  positive  one  of  good, 


272  MARION   GRAHAM  J 

—  or.  an  inevitable  product  of  finiteness,  they  entirely 
destroy  its  character. 

Nor  do  the  '  Sensational '  or  '  Dualistic'  theories,  in  my 
view,  cast  any  light  on  this  intense  darkness.  These 
various  hypotheses  are  alike  unsatisfactory,  —  though 
such  minds  as  Kant  and  Schleiermacher  have  used  all 
their  acumen  in  the  investigations  which  have  led  them 
to  some  one  of  these  different  results. 

The  labors  of  the  modern  Pantheistic  school  in  the 
same  direction,  have  no  more  influence  with  me ;  for 
while  they  do  not  relieve  the  subject,  they  also  reduce 
sin  to  a  mere  infirmity,  the  result  of  limited  powers  ;  — 
according  to  which  doctrine,  man  must  either  become 
God,  or  sin  be  eternal. 

All  these  various  and  elaborate  attempts  only  aggra- 
vate the  difficulty,  which  may  be  reduced  to  a  single 
point.  The  God  whom  you  believe  to  be  infinite  in 
power  and  benevolence,  has  created  a  world  which  he 
foresaw  would  overflow  with  sin  and  misery.  Either 
he  could  not  prevent  the  evil,  or  he  chose  it  for  the  good 
which  would  result  from  it.  In  the  former  case,  weak- 
ness is  stamped  upon  his  works  in  ineffaceable  charac- 
ters ;  in  the  latter,  his  holiness  cannot  be  infinite.  If 
you  charge  sin  to  the  account  of  the  great  Tempter, 
there  recurs  the  question  which  Friday  put  to  Robinson 
Crusoe,  under  similar  instruction,  '  Why  God  not  kill 
Debbil?'  We  are  thus  hemmed  in,  and  shut  up  to  a 
fearful  alternative  ;  and  for  refuge  I  am  driven  to  my 
gloomy  scepticism.  The  endless  limitations,  and  the 
hopeless  aspirations  and  struggles  of  life,  oppress  my 
spirit,  even  as  they  did  that  of  Faust ;  but  I  would  not 
thence  league  myself  with  the  base  demon  '  that  still 
denies.'  I  am  not  yet  quite  prepared  to  say,  with  the 
long-wearied  doctor, — 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  273 

•  In  the  depth  of  senses'  enjoyment 
Let  us  cool  our  glowing  passions.' 

But  I  am  head-sick  and  heart-sick.  My  whole  nature 
yearns  after  a  Supreme  Being,  worthy  of  its  profound- 
est  love  and  adoration.  Ah !  Miss  Graham,  believe  as 
you  may, 

'  Tis  not  in 

The  harmony  of  things.  —  this  hard  decree, 
This  uneradicable  taint  of  sin, 
This  boundless  Upas,  this  all-blasting  tree, 
Whose  root  is  earth,  whose  leaves  and  branches  be 
The  skies  which  rain  their  plagues  on  men  like  dew  — 
Disease,  death,  bondage  —  all  the  woes  we  see  — 
And  worse,  the  woes  we  see  not,  which  throb  through 
The  immedicable  soul,  with  heart-aches  ever  new.'" 

After  every  letter  from  Maurice,  Marion  had  an  inva- 
riable season  of  depression.  But  it  was  a  relief  that  she 
now  had  a  friend  to  whom  she  could  open  her  heart. 
By  a  previous  arrangement,  she  and  Lenora  spent  the 
next  afternoon  at  the  parsonage.  After  tea,  while  Mrs. 
Sunderland  and  Lenora  were  walking  in  the  garden, 
Henry  and  Marion  sat  together  by  a  retired  window 
shaded  with  climbing  rose:*.  He  returned  Maurice's 
letter,  which  she  had  previously  given  him,  saying,  — 

"  We  must  not  be  discouraged.  Your  friend  is  rest- 
lessly tossing  in  the  port  where  he  hoped  for  quiet 
waters.  I  can  see  that  there  is  a  deep  under-current  in 
his  being  which  protests  against  his  desolate  infidelity." 

Marion  eagerly  drank  in  every  word,  but  she  made  no 
reply.  So  Mr.  Sunderland  continued  his  encouraging 
talk,  till  her  agitated  spirit  was  soothed.  For  more  than 
an  hour  they  sat  there  in  the  fading  twilight,  commun- 
ing of  earth  and  heaven.  When  Lenora  came  in,  her 


1'74  MAKION    GRAHAM  ; 

quick  eye  at  once  perceived  the  air  of  mutual  confi- 
dence between  them,  and  she  said  to  herself,  — 

"  All  is  settled.  How  perfectly  absorbed  they  are  in 
one  another,  and  how  blind  to  my  bitter  sorrow !  Strange 
that  she  confides  nothing  to  me  of  this.  But  I  will  ask 
her  no  questions.  And  as  to  myself,  I  will  wear  an  im- 
penetrable mask." 

Alas !  alas !  that  there  should  have  been  such  total 
blindness  on  every  hand !  What  agony  might  not  have 
been  spared  to  them  all,  had  their  hearts  only  been  open 
to  one  another! 

And  so,  in  the  great  game  of  life,  do  we  often  play  at 
cross-purposes !  A  veil  ia  closely  wrapped  about  soul.-* 
that  we  deem  transparent,  and  thus  the  heart's  precious 
cargo  is  wrecked. 

••  Oh!  we  bear  within  us  mysterious  things, 
Of  memory  and  anguish  —  unfathomed  springs, 
And  passion,  those  gulfs  of  the  heart  to  fill 
With  bitter  waves,  which  it  ne'er  may  still." 


OB,  HIGHER  THAN  HAPPINESS. 


CHAPTER    XX11I. 

"  Life  treads  on  life,  and  heart  on  heart  — 
We  press  too  close  in  church  and  mart. 
To  keep  a  dream  or  grave  apart." 

"  REMEMBER  ! "  said  Lenora,  as  she  was  about  return- 
ing to  the  city,  "  some  time  in  September  we  are  to  see 
you  in  New  York.  There  you  shall  breathe  free  air, 
with  no  Sir  Charles  Grandison  to  be  forever  preaching 
propriety  and  perfection.  But  I  shall  be  sorry  for  you, 
sir,  with  nobody  to  lord  it  over,*'  she  saucily  added,  as 
Marion  was  leaving  the  room.  "  When  you  can  no 
longer  play  the  despot,  you  will  assuredly  pine  to  a 
shadow." 

"Lenora,"  said  Mr.  Sunderland,  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
am  your  true  friend  and  well-wisher.  And  is  this  en- 
mity to  last  forever  ?  Believe  me.  I  would  make  no 
small  sacrifice  to  win  your  regard." 

The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  and  by  a  sudden  impulse 
she  extended  her  hand,  saying  in  an  agitated  voice, — 

u  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Sunderland.  and  do  not  judge  me 
too  harshly." 

Grasping  her  hand  cordially,  he  asked,  — 

"  Will  you  not  let  me  read  your  heart,  Lenora  ?  A 
strange  bitterness  at  times  comes  over  you,  as  if  you 
were  struggling  with  some  heavy  sorrow.  God  knows 
I  can  sympathize  with  the  suffering ;  and  if  I  am  right 


27»>  MARION    GRAHAM  : 

in  my  conjecture,  it  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  me, 
could  I  bring  you  the  smallest  comfort." 

The  blood  rushed  tumultuously  to  Lenora's  face,  and 
her  whole  frame  trembled  with  emotion.  He  too  was 
moved,  and  again  entreated  her  to  speak  freely.  She 
tried  to  reply,  but  the  words  died  on  her  lips.  Could  lie- 
only  h:ive  lifted  the  curtain  which  she  had  drawn  close 
over  her  heart,  who  can  tell  what  might  have  been  the 
result  ?  The  hopes  of  a  life  hung  on  that  single  moment. 
He  looked  searchingly  into  her  face,  and  at  length  caught 
her  half-uttered  words,— — 

"  I  am  indeed  very  miserable,  but " 

At  this  unpropitious  moment  Marion's  step  was 
heard,  and  struggling  for  composure,  Lenora  hastily 
added,  — 

"  Nothing  more,  only  I  am  unwilling  you  should  sup- 
pose I  have  any  enmity  towards  you.  '  Hate  '  you,  I 
never  could ! " 

So  they  parted.  He  did  not  dream  that  she  had  wil- 
fully shown  to  him  her  worst  side ;  that  she  had  worn 
a  mask  which  had  hidden  from  his  sight  a  heart  freighted 
with  affection's  wealth.  He  often  thought  of  that  inter- 
view, but  no  other  came  to  extend  his  knowledge ;  and 
he  concluded  that  her  emotion  must  have  sprung  from 
one  of  her  generous  impulses,  and  the  fear  that  she  had 
wounded  his  feelings. 

Marion's  term  at  length  closed,  and  she  left,  with  the 
high  esteem  and  best  wishes  of  the  Carrisford  people. 
Her  plan  was  to  remain  a  month  in  Graham  Hall,  dur- 
ing which  time  Mr.  Sunderland  had  promised  to  bring 
his  mother  to  spend  a  few  days  with  her.  After  that, 
she  would  pass  a  week  or  two  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  May- 
nard,  proceeding  from  Brentford  to  New  York. 


OE,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  277 

It  was  a  strange  dream  to  be  again  treading  the 
familiar  places  of  her  childhood  ;  and  it  required  all  her 
resolution  to  break  up  her  inclination  to  perpetual  rev- 
erie. A  pleasant  interruption  occurred  in  the  visit  of 
her  Carrisford  friends.  It  was  a  delight  to  have  them 
under  her  own  roof,  and  to  be  able  to  do  a  little  towards 
repaying  their  abundant  hospitality.  She  prevailed 
on  Mr.  Morton  to  dine  and  take  tea  with  them  while 
they  remained,  an  arrangement  which  they  all  enjoyed. 

The  last  evening  of  their  stay,  as  Mrs.  Sunderland 
and  Mr.  Morton  were  talking  over  old  times,  Henry  and 
Marion  sat  together  in  her  boudoir.  Handing  him  her 
reply  to  Maurice's  letter,  she  left  him  alone  to  peruse  it. 

"You  have  my  hearty  sympathy,  Mr.  Vinton,  in  your 
impression  of  solitude  in  Paris.  I  fully  agree  with  you 
that  the  most  rugged  and  barren  desert  is  often  more 
congenial  than  the  gayest  crowd.  You  remember  those 
lines  of  Bryant's,  — 

'  And  she  glides 

Into  his  dark  musings  with  a  mild  and  gentle 
Sympathy  which  steals  away  their  sharpness 
Ere  he  is  aware.' 

But  it  is  the  God  of  nature,  from  whom  she  derives  her 
charms, — that  God,  Mr.  Vinton,  whom,  as  it  seems  to 
me,  you  totally  misapprehend.  Never  did  I  so  deeply 
feel  my  own  ignorance  as  now.  I  know  almost  noth- 
ing of  the  schools,  and  am  far  less  acquainted  with  thr 
sacred  oracles,  and  with  our  own  system  of  theology 
than  I  ought  to  be.  But  as  knowledge  is  not  what  you 
need,  I  will  not  shrink  from  my  part  of  the  correspond- 
ence. 

14 


278  MARION    GRAHAM  : 

I  am  rejoiced  that  you  have  no  disposition  to  receive 
those  labored  theories  as  to  the  origin  of  sin.  They 
must  tend  to  destroy  that  consciousness  of  guilt  which 
is  God's  testimony  against  the  evil-doer.  Of  course  I 
have  no  doubt  that  in  some  way,  God  will  overrule  this 
moral  evil  for  the  greatest  good  of  the  universe.  To 
this  you  may  reply,  '  How  can  a  system  embracing  sin, 
be  better  than  one  which  would  exclude  it  ?  '  But,  Mr. 
Vinton,  does  not  the  fact  that  there  is  no  explanation 
of  this  mystery,  itself  cast  some  light  upon  it?  I  can 
well  understand  your  questionings,  for  you  are  one  of 
those,  '  the  poignancy  of  whose  sufferings  comes  from 
an  irrepressible  doubt  of  right,  a  burning  passion  to 
penetrate  the  impenetrable  meaning  of  this  anguish. 
It  is  a  human  cry  which  surely  God  does  not  despise.' 

But  you  will  not  deny  that  there  are  many  cases  in 
which  the  working  of  a  beneficent  design  is  distinctly 
manifest.  This  once  established,  ought  we  not  to 
attribute  the  unexplained  remainder  to  our  ignorance 
rather  than  to  God's  injustice  or  his  impotence  ? 
And  when  thick  clouds  gather  around  us,  and  we  sit 
in-  profound  darkness,  if  we  will  only  seek  light  in 
the  Divine  Word,  we  shall  never  fail  to  find  it. 
There,  God  is  revealed  to  us  in  his  holy  and  infin- 
ite attributes.  Nothing  in  kind  is  wanting  to  pro- 
duce a  matchless  symmetry  of  character;  nothing  in 
degree  to  form  a  complete  realization  of  the  highest 
ideal  excellence.  In  these  blended  attributes  there  is 
no  room  for  partiality  or  mistake  ;  for  undue  severity  or 
weak  indulgence  ;  or  for  incompetent  or  inefficient 
action.  They  thus  give  us  the  surest  pledge  that  there 
can  be  no  mal-administration  in  the  divine  government. 
Upon  the  dark  background  of  sin,  God's  character 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  279 

shines  with  transcendent  lustre.  We  see  him  hating 
the  sin,  yet  loving  the  sinner,  and,  at  infinite  cost,  pro- 
viding  for  his  redemption.  '  He  was  wounded  for  our 
transgressions,  vhe  was  bruised  for  our  iniquities,  the 
rhastisement  or  our  peace  was  upon  him,  and  by  his 
stripes  we  are  healed.'  Thus,  out  of  this  profoundest 
darkness,  radiates  the  effulgence  of  the  divine  love,  the 
glorious  central  luminary,  around  which  all  the  other 
attributes  revolve. 

Can  you  esteem  Him  ruthless  who  assumed  our 
nature,  that  He  might  be  tempted  even  as  we  are ;  and 
by  a  series  of  unparalleled  victories,  and  a  final  submis- 
sion to  a  torturing  and  disgraceful  death,  procure  our 
salvation  from  sin  and  from  hell? 

Why  will  you  not  be  persuaded  candidly  and 
prayerfully  to  study  the  life  of  Jesus  Christ  ?  It  seems 
to  me  that  such  a  study  could  not  fail  to  fasten  upon 
your  mind  with  irresistible  conviction,  the. great  foun- 
dation-truth of  Christianity,  that  '  God  is  love.'  And 
with  all  your  fastidiousness,  you  can  surely  find  noth- 
ing to  object  against  the  Hero  of  Galilee.  Unlike 
other  heroes  in  whose  triumphal  marches  are  found 
mighty  men  and  warriors,  —  in  the  vast  procession  that 
follows  Him,  are  gathered  the  deaf,  the  dumb,  and  the 
blind ;  the  leprous,  the  lunatic,  and  those  possessed 
with  demons  ;  —  one  great  moving  hospital.  Neither 
did  the  hosanna  shouts  of  the  multitude  deceive  him, 
nor  the  cruel  taunts  of  his  enemies  turn  him  aside  from 
his  mission  of  love.  The  avarice  and  selfishness,  the 
ingratitude  and  malice  of  their  hearts  are  bared  to  his 
glance ;  yet  with  outstretched  hands  he  calls,  '  Come 
unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest,' 


280  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

But  pardon  my  enthusiasm.  Deeply  as  I  feel,  I  did 
not  mean  to  preach  a  homily,  but  only  to  persuade  you, 
if  possible,  to  read  the  Gospel  with  a  childlike  spirit. 
And  may  God  bless  you,  and  give  you  peace ! " 

When  Marion  returned,  Mr.  Sunderland  was  leaning 
upon  his  hand  in  a  thoughtful  attitude,  and  as  he 
looked  up,  she  perceived  that  his  eyes  were  glistening 
with  tears. 

"  I  hope,  Marion,  nay,  more,  I  belie  ce  that  God  will 
grant  your  intense  desire,  and  send  light  into  that  deso- 
late soul.  But  I  entreat  you  to  remember  that  even 
should  this  be,  —  other  barriers  may  rise  up  to  separate 
you." 

At  these  words  the  bright  color  faded  from  her  cheek, 
and  he  continued  in  a  still  gentler  voice,  — 

"  By  my  deep  interest  in  you,  I  dare  not  have  you 
connect  too  closely  the  thought  of  his  conversion  and 
dreams  of  future  happiness.  God  only  knows  what 
discipline  we  need !  My  sister  will  pardon  me  for  say- 
ing this ;  and  will  believe  that  I  do  not  forget  to  pray 
for  her  earthly,  as  well  as  her  eternal  happiness." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  plainness.  I  had  not  thought 
of  the  danger,  but  I  will  strive  for  unconditional  sub- 
mission. May  God  grant  him  deliverance  from  his 
bondage,  and,  if  need  be,  I  will  lay  myself  on  the  altar. 
To  you  I  owe  more  than  I  can  express.  Then  your 
books  and  your  suggestions  are  a  great  help  to  me  in 
my  letters." 

As  they  rose  to  go  into  the  parlor,  Mr.  Sunderland 
said  with  earnestness,  — 

"Will  you  not  promise  to  let  me  know  your  sorrows, 
—  to  come  to  me  with  an  open  heart  as  to  an  own 
brother?" 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  281 

"  I  do  promise  this  with  all  willingness." 

A  day  or  two  after  the  departure  of  her  friends,  Mr. 
Vinton  had  a  severe  attack  of  paralysis.  As  the  other 
sisters  could  not  leave  their  large  families,  Bessie  came 
to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  her  parents,  and  Marion's 
visit  to  Brentford  was  consequently  deferred.  In  fulfil- 
ment of  her  promise,  at  the  appointed  time  she  left  Tor 
New  York,  where  she  was  warmly  greeted  by  her  friend. 

Lenora  was  determined  that  she  should  see  and  be 
seen,  and,  having  a  large  circle  of  acquaintance,  this 
was  easily  accomplished. 

"  I  was  never  made  for  a  city  life,"  said  Marion  one 
day  as  they  were  walking  in  Broadway. 

"  But  you  were  made  to  produce  a  sensation  here, 
country  girl  that  you  are  ;  and  you  must  begin  this  very 
evening  at  Mrs.  G's  party." 

When  they  were  ushered  into  the  splendid  drawing- 
room,  the  rush  about  Lenora  proved  her  a  favorite  in 
society,  although  possessing  little  claim  to  beauty.  Her 
sprightly  and  piquant  manner  made  her  popular  with 
all  who  did  not  dread  her  sarcasm.  Marion  had  prom- 
ised "  to  make  an  effort,"  and  she  soon  had  a  circle  around 
her. 

"  Who  is  that  new  star  ? "  asked  Mr.  Compton,  a 
wealthy,  self-satisfied  widower,  owner  of  an  elegant 
establishment,  but  with  the  incumhrance  of  four  chil- 
dren. 

"  I  hear  she  is  Miss  Graham  from  the  country  some- 
where in  western  New  York.  But  really  she  is  too 
splendid  for  a  rural  production." 

"  I  think  a  great  deal  better  of  her  for  being  country- 
brod,  seeing  she  has  no  country  awkwardness.  Why,  1 


f  £2  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

came  from  the  country  myself."  And  complacently 
stroking  his  beard,  he  continued,  "  If  the  genuine  article 
corresponds  to  the  appearance,  she  stands  a  pretty  fair 
chance." 

"  Of  being  lady  of  the  Compton  establishment,  eh  ?  " 

"  May  be  so.  Of  course  we  can't  decide  without 
further  examination  of  her  claims.  Do  you  know  who 
brought  her  here  ?  " 

"  I  saw  her  come  in  with  Miss  Benson,  whom  I  hear 
^he  is  visiting." 

"  All  very  well.  She  must  belong  to  the  upper  crust, 
then." 

Making  his  way  towards  Lenora,  after  a  profound 
bow  and  some  common-place  remarks,  he  begged  of  her 
the  honor  of  an  introduction  to  her  friend. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  she  replied,  secretly  ex- 
ulting ;  for,  knowing  his  wants  and  his  supposed  claims, 
she  made  calculations  for  some  amusement  in  that 
quarter. 

"  Allow  me,  Miss  Graham,  to  introduce  to  you  my 
friend,  Mr.  Compton." 

Marion  courteously  noticed  the  introduction,  conclud- 
ing from  her  manner  that  he  was  a  particular  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  You  have  long  known  Miss  Benson  ?  " 

"  For  some  time,  sir." 

"  You  find  her  a  person  of  great  powers." 

"  Do  you  mean  physical  or  intellectual  powers  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  little  intent  at  mischief. 

"  Well,  I  should  say  both,"  he  replied,  with  the  ut- 
most innocence. 

He  remained  by  her  half  an  hour,  condescendingly 
delivering  himself  of  oracular  utterances  similar  to 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  283 

those  above  cited.  Then,  feeling  that  he  had  made 
sufficient  impression  for  the  beginning,  and  that  it 
would  not  answer  to  be  too  suddenly  overpowering,  he 
left  her  with  a  patronizing  bow,  which  said  as  clearly 
as  bow  could  say,  that  he  would  honor  her  with  further 
notice  at  another  time.  Approaching  Lenora,  he  whis- 
pered. — 

"  One  word  with  you,  if  you  please." 

"  Twenty,  if  you  wish,"  and  she  withdrew  with  hitn 
into  an  alcove. 

"  I  have  been  attempting  to  draw  out  your  friend, 
and  have  succeeded,  to  a  degree.  She  is  very  modest, 
—  a  commendable  thing  in  woman,"  and  he  waved  his 
hand  as  if  her  modesty  were  an  act  of  homage  to  him- 
self. 

"  I  am  glad  you  understand  her  so  well." 

"  Thank  you.  I  know  a  little  something  of  the  fe- 
male character.  Your  friend  appears  to  be  well  edu- 
cated." 

"  Thoroughly  so." 

"  And  of  good  family  ? " 

"  Highly  respectable." 

"  And  doubtless  of  handsome  property." 

"  Nothing  in  that  respect  to  boast  of." 

u  Some  reverses,  probably,"  and  a  faint  little  smile 
stole  over  his  grave  face,  which  she  easily  translated, 
"  Under  the  circumstances,  money  could  readily  be  dis- 
pensed with." 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  added,  "  that  in  consider- 
ation of  my  long  acquaintance  with  your  family,  it 
might  be  desirable  for  me  to  call  occasionally,  and  to 
pay  your  friend,  as  a  stranger  here,  some  little  atten- 
tions." 


2H  MARION   GRAHAM  : 

"  Call  as  often  as  you  please,  sir,"  she  replied,  with  a 
mischievous  twinkle  of  her  eye. 

Their  carriage  being  announced,  Mr.  Compton  was 
on  hand  as  an  escort  for  the  ladies,  and  complacently 
bowed  them  away. 

"  Well,  Marion,  how  have  you  enjoyed  your  debit I 
into  New  York  society?" 

"  Just  passably.  But  who  is  that  strange  man  to 
whom  you  gave  me  so  particular  an  introduction  ?  " 

"  Did  you  not  understand  his  name  then  ?  It  is  Mr. 
Compton,  an  old  friend  of  our  family,  and  formerly  a 
partner  of  my  father's." 

"  Is  he  a  married  man  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  has  four  children.  Did  he  not  talk  about 
them?" 

And  Lenora  rattled  on  briskly,  congratulating  herself 
that  Marion  could  not  see  her  face. 

In  the  course  of  a  day  or  two,  Mr.  Compton  made 
his  appearance,  and  studied  to  be  generally  agreeable. 
From  that  time,  he  called  frequently,  and  was  received 
by  Lenora  with  invariable  politeness. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Compton  is  a  pleasant  man.  Don't 
you  find  him  so,  Marie  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  he  interests  me." 

"  Of  course  I  ought  not  to  have  expected  that  he 
\\ould.  There's  nobody  fit  company  for  you,  but  Sir 
Charles  Grandison,  forever  obtruding  his  counsels  and 
rebukes.  For  my  part,  I  continue  to  prefer  homage  to 
tyranny." 

Marion  had  ceased  to  argue  this  point  with  Lenora, 
as  it  seemed  only  to  irritate  her.  Although  Mr.  Comp- 
ton was  unremitting  in  his  attentions,  yet  as  Lenora 
shared  in  them,  and  she  had  not  the  remotest  suspicion 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  2S/> 

of  his  being  a  widower,  she  could  not  dream  that  he 
had  any  particular  designs  with  reference  to  herself.  So, 
while  she  wondered  that  his  wife  neither  called  nor 
sent  an  apology,  she  thought  it  best  to  make  no  com- 
ments on  the  matter. 

"  Would  you  not  consider  it  well,"  said  he  one  day 
1o  Lenora,  "for  me  to  take  you  both  out  on  a  drive, 
stopping  to  lunch  at  my  place  in  order  that  your  friend 
may  see  it  for  herself  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  a  capital  plan,"  was  her  grave  rejoinder. 

Lenora  would  not  allow  Marion  to  decline,  so  they 
rode  away  in  style,  and,  calling  at  Mr.  Compton's,  were 
furnished  with  an  elegant  repast,  after  which  they  were 
invited  to  walk  over  the  premises.  When  they  had 
returned,  Marion  threw  herself  on  the  sofa,  saying, — 

"  Mr.  Compton  must  either  be  half-witted,  or  in  hi.s 
dotage." 

"  You  shock  me,  Marion,  and  I  must  beg  you  not  to 
be  so  uncharitable." 

"  Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  if  you,  Lenora  Benson, 
think  that  man  agreeable,  it  is  one  of  the  unaccounta- 
bles." 

"  You  will  please  remember  that  you  have  mystified 
me  after  the  same  fashion." 

"What?" 

"  You  cannot  have  forgotten  your  warmly  defending 
Mr.  Perley  against  my  fierce  onslaught." 

"  That  is  a  tabooed  name." 

"  Then  you  must  not  dare  me  to  utter  it,  by  attack- 
ing my  friend." 

"  I  did  not  suppose  it  possible  you  could  be  sensitive 
with  regard  to  Mr.  Compton.  But  I  will  say  no 


286  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

Not  many  days  after,  there  was  a  nervous  ring  at 
the  door. 

44  There  is  character  in  that  ring,"  said  Lenora  to 
herself,  "  and  I  am  sure  it  must  be  the  widower's. 
Xow,  for  some  sport.'* 

According  to  her  expectation,  Mr.  Compton  was 
ushered  in.  From  the  extreme  uprightness  of  his  col- 
lar, the  extra  polish  upon  his  boots,  and  his  whole 
indescribable  bearing,  denoting  a  condescending  reso- 
luteness, Lenora  saw  that  he  had  come  heroically  bent 
on  doing  the  deed.  Knowing  that  there  was  no  senti- 
ment in  the  case  requiring  solitude,  she  resumed  the 
book  she  was  reading,  saying  with  an  absorbed  air. — 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Compton." 

Marion,  who  was  sitting  at  a  bay  window,  was  thus 
left  to  do  the  honors.  He  approached  her  briskly,  n  nd 
having  inquired  after  her  health,  and  remarked  upon 
the  weather,  he  drew  still  nearer,  and  delivered  himself 
of  the  following,  — 

"  I  will  say  to  you  in  the  words  of  another,  '  To 
descant  upon  your  virtues  or  your  grace,  would  be  rude 
in  me,  and  offensive  to  you,'  but  this  I  must  s-ny,  1 
thank  the  Lord  for  making  you  as  you  are,  and  for 
bringing  you  to  my  knowledge  !  " 

Having  made  this  brilliant  effort  in  pyrotechnics,  he 
paused  to  recover  breath,  and  to  note  the  effect  of  hi> 
exhibition.  But  Marion,  fearing  that  he  was  actually 
demented,  was  too  much  confounded  to  attempt  any 
reply.  Satisfied  that  he  had  caused  a  sensation,  he 
drew  a  chair  confidentially  near,  and  continued,  — 

•'  I  have,  from  time  to  time,  given  you  intimations  of 
the  impression  you  were  making  on  my  somewhat  fas- 
tidious nature.  And  it  has  gratified  me  to  perceive 


OB,    HIGHER    THAN    H.U'l'lNK— .  J«7 

that  you  have  encouraged  my  — presumption"  he  said ; 
but  with  so  complacent  an  air,  that  it  was  evident  he 
meant  condescension.  "  Your  friend  has  doubtless  given 
you  all  the  information  concerning  me  that  you  could 
desire.  And  you  have  seen  my  humble  establishment, 
though  I  regret  that  my  children  were  at  school.  But 
there's  time  enough  for  them,''  said  he,  with  an  attempt 
TO  be  facetious.  "  And  now,"  working  his  hands  as  if 
wiping  them  with  a  towel,  "if  you  have  any  questions 
you  would  like  to  ask,  I  hope  you  will  propose  them 
without  ihe  smallest  hesitation.  I  shall  be  happy  to 
have  no  concealments  from  you.  My  wealth,  my  chil- 
dren, and  myself,  I  cheerfully  lay  at  your  feet," 

Lenora,  who  sat  where,  unobserved,  she  could  view 
the  whole  scene,  was  almost  convulsed  in  her  efforts  to 
control  her  risibles.  And  as  for  Marion,  she  was  per- 
fectly overcome  with  amazement.  By  a  great  effort, 
however,  she  summoned  her  scattered  ideas,  saying,  — 

x-  But—  sir •' 

"Do  not  be  disturbed.  Your  friend  has  made  me 
aware  of  your  circumstances,  and  I  candidly  assure  you 
it  makes  no  difference  whatever." 

Determined,  before  committing  herself,  to  discover 
whether  her  visitor  was  really  a  madman,  or  whether 
she  was  actually  listening  to  a  bona  Jidc  offer  of  mar- 
riage from  one  \vho  had  a  right  to  make  it,  Marion 
quietly  remarked,  — 

"  This  is  singular  conversation  for  a  married  man." 

It  was  now  his  turn  for  astonishment. 

"A  married  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  understood  you  were  a  married  man." 

"  Bless  you  !  so  I  was,"  retorted  he,  surprised  out  of 
his  formalism.  '-And  so  I  expect  to  be  again,  with 


•JMh  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

your  consent,  madam."  And  he  made  one  of  his  bland- 
est bows. 

"  But  your  wife "  persisted  Marion,  resolute  on 

getting  out  of  the  labyrinthine  maxe  before  she  ven- 
tured on  a  specific  reply  to  hi:*  proposal,  or  rather  de- 
mand. 

"  If  that  is  your  difficulty,  I  can  easily  dispel  it.  My 
wife  has  lain  in  Greenwood  Cemetery  above  a  year." 

The  scene  was  becoming  so  tragico-comical,  that 
Lenora's  emotion  could  no  longer  be  suppressed,  and 
her  loud  peals  of  laughter  broke  suddenly  upon  her 
startled  auditors.  Both  Mr.  Compton  and  Marion 
turned  upon  her  with  indignation. 

"  Have  you  been  imposing  on  me  ?  "  burst  forth  from 
Marion. 

"And  on  me  ?*  he  added. 

"  Hear  me,  Sir,"  said  Lenora,  when  she  was  able  to 
command  her  voice.  "  Had  my  friend  known  you  were 
in  pursuit  of  a  wife,  her  native  modesty  would  have 
prevented  her  from  receiving  your  attentions.  I  accord- 
ingly left  it  for  you,  after  you  had  won  your  prize,  to 
inform  her  that  you  were  in  a  condition  to  receive  it." 

"  Precisely  so,  and  very  considerate  in  you,"  he  replied, 
entirely  mollified,  and  turning  towards  her  with  a  dep- 
recatory wave  of  his  hand.  "And  I  beg,  Miss  Graham, 
that  this  tardy  announcement  of  my  marriageable  con- 
dition may  make  no  difference  whatever  with  you.  The 
facts  remain  unchanged ;  and  now  that  you  compre- 
hend my  purpose,  I  trust  your  modesty  will  not  prevent 
your  making  me  an  explicit  answer." 

"  It  certainly  will  not,  Mr.  Compton,"  said  Marion, 
divided  between  indignation  at  his  presumption,  and 
amusement  at  the  irresistible  ludicrousness  of  the  scene. 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  289 

"And,  in  all  humility,  I  beg  you  to  understand  that, 
with  many  thanks  for  the  honor  conferred  by  your  pro- 
posal, I  must  entirely  decline  it." 

"  Not  possible  ?  "  he  said,  starting  as  if  he  had  mis- 
understood her. 

"  Quite  certain,  sir." 

"  This  has  come  upon  you  suddenly,  and  your  mind 
is  confused.  I  am  willing  to  allow  time  for  consider- 
ation." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  but  you  must  permit  me  to  say 
explicitly,  and  once  for  all,  that  my  mind  is  fully  made 
up,  and  a  month's  consideration  would  make  no  differ- 
ence." 

"  You  may  regret  so  hasty  a  decision." 

"  I  will  incur  the  risk.  But  I  am  truly  sorry  that  my 
mistake  has  given  you  any  inconvenience." 

"  That  is  of  little  consequence.  But  I  wish  to  know 
whether  I  am  to  understand  you  as  decidedly  rejecting 
my  proposals  of  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  do  decidedly  reject  them,"  replied  Marion,  unable 
to  suppress  a  smile  at  his  difficulty  in  comprehending 
her. 

"  Then,  Miss  Graham,  I  must  express  my  conviction 
that  you  are  an  eccentric  woman." 

"  I  may  be  so.  But  I  beg  you  to  accept  my  wishes 
that  you  may  speedily  find  some  one  more  worthy  of 
the  honor  you  propose." 

"  There  are  plenty  who  will  be  proud  to  fill  the  place. 
But  I  really  regret  your  view  of  the  matter,  for  you 
suit  my  fancy,  and  I  think  you  admirably  fitted  for  the 
position.  But  I  must  bid  you  good  morning,  ladies." 

And  he  departed  without  a  single  ruffle  on  the  plu- 
mage of  his  self-conceit 


290  MARION  GRAHAM  ; 

In  the  mean  time  Marion  was  giving  vent  to  her 
mingled  indignation  and  merriment. 

"  How  could  you,  Lenora  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  help  it  ?  I  had  his  good  in  view,  and 
am  provoked  that  we  have  failed  to  bring  him  down 
a  notch  or  two  from  his  high  pedestal,  —  the  audacious 
fellow !  I  verily  thought  he  would  never  give  o'er. 
Well,  he  will  tell  his  own  story,  and  the  eclat  of  the 
thing  will  make  you  all  the  rage.  Every  fool  must  be 
in  the  fashion,  even  if  that  is  —  to  get  the  mitten.  So, 
unless  you  commission  me  to  spread  abroad  the  fact 
that  you  are  already  ensnared,  you  may  make  up  your 
mind  that  this  is  not  your  last  siege." 

A  deep  flush  overspread  Marion's  face,  as  she  re- 
plied, — 

"  I  have  no  concern  on  that  score,  if  you  will  only 
leave  off  plotting." 

"  I  am  heartily  vexed,"  soliloquized  Lenora.  "  With 
all  her  privacy,  the  fact  of  an  attachment  between  her 
and  Mr.  Sunderland  would  be  plain  even  to  a  mole. 
Such  a  foolish  concealment  of  what  she  may  well  glory 
in,  is  unworthy  of  Marion.  But  I'll  be  as  mute  as 
she." 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  Marion,  who  had 
been  watching  her  expressive  countenance. 

"  But  I  shall  not  tell  them  for  a  hundred  pennies." 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  291 


CHAPTER     XXIV. 

"  Still  must  I  on,  for  I  am  as  a  weed, 
Flung  from  the  rock  on  ocean's  foam  to  sail, 
Where'er  the  storm  may  sweep,  the  tempest's  breath  prevail." 

"  HERE,  Miss  Graham,  in  the  eternal  city,  I  am  drink- 
ing inspiration  from  the  great  masters  with  delight, 
blended  with  an  inexpressible  sadness.  Can  there  be 
more  striking  evidence  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
than  is  furnished  by  these  works  ?  I  was  conscious  of 
this  reaching  towards  infinity  as  I  gazed  upon  Ra- 
phael's '  Transfiguration.'  But  I  must  admit  that  I  was 
at  the  same  time  drawn  earthwards  by  a  kindlier  force  ; 
for  it  reminded  me  of  a  charmed  spot  upon  whose  walls 
hangs  an  engraving  of  this  unequalled  painting.  But  a 
truce  to  these  memories  ! 

As  I  stood  upon  the  Piazza  of  St.  Peter's,  and,  looking 
up,  tried  to  grasp  the  grand  architectural  idea,  I  felt  that 
such  works  must  grow  out  of  an  immortal  nature,  strug- 
gling for  expression  amidst  weakness  and  formidable 
obstacles.  How  strikingly  did  our  own  Allston  exhibit 
this  discontent  with  the  attained,  and  this  ceaseless 
striving  after  perfection !  But  to  return  to  St.  Peter's. 
Architecture  is  so  new  in  our  own  country,  that  there  is 
little  to  awaken  pleasure  in  that  direction  ;  and  my  im- 
pressions were  therefore  proportionably  vivid.  You 
would  have  hardly  thought  me  an  unbeliever,  as  I  stood 


292  MARION  GRAHAM; 

in  those  vast  aisles,  and  looked  up  to  the  mighty  dome. 
Never  did  work  of  man  so  stir  my  being  to  its  depths. 
It  is,  indeed,  '  a  Te  Deum  in  s*one.'  Last  Sunday, 
I  was  present  there  at  high  mass.  But,  — 

•Mid  the  gorgeous  storm  of  music,  —  in   tin-  mellow  organs-alms. 
Mid    the   upward,   streaming    prayers,    and    the    ri<-h    *nd    M»lem:i 
psalms,' 

my  thoughts  bounded  over  the  waters,  and  lingered  in 
a  certain  little  room,  where  I  have  heard  music,  which 
to  hear  but  once  more,  I  would  barter  all  the  enjoyment 
that  this  art-land  cin  afford.  Had  you  been  with  me, 
Miss  Graham,  we  might  have  communed  together  in 
silent  worsh:p  to  the  Great  Unknown.  Is  not  the  pro- 
found homage  of  the  heart,  thus  awakened,  better  than  a 
forced  assent  to  certain  dry  dogmas,  and  that  too  against 
the  dictates  of  reason  ?  When  God  reveals  himself  to  me 
in  his  moral  attributes,  as  he  does  at  times  in  the  world 
of  nature  and  of  art,  then  my  heart  will  instinctively 
adore.  Is  it  irreligion  that  I  cannot  do  so,  until  then  ? 

In  my  strolls  about  Rome,  I  have  used  '  Corinne '  as 
a  guide-book,  yet  at  the  expense  of  some  sadness,  for  I 
can  never  read  it  without.  To  see  so  noble  a  character 
as  Oswald's  marred  by  the  weakest  irresolution,  and  by 
a  surrender  of  the  higher  instincts  to  a  morbid  clamor- 
ing of  prejudice,  falsely  called  principle,  arouses  my 
indignation.  But  you  may  charge  me  with  too  severe 
a  judgment.  Certainly  if  a  woman  can  forgive  his  vacil- 
lating course  towards  Corinne,  I  ought  to  do  so. 

To  come  to  the  main  theme  of  our  letters,  —  for,  de- 
lay this  as  I  may,  I  cannot  evade  it,  —  I  must  confess 
myself  not  unmoved  by  your  eloquent  reasoning.  But 
the  further  you  advance,  the  more  fully  do  you  bring 
out  my  obstacles. 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  2f>.°> 

There  is  such  an  outcry  against  German  Criticism, 
that  I  know  it  will  pain  you  when  I  avow  my  sympathy 
with  that  school.  Not  that,  by  any  means,  I  can  accept 
the  substance  of  their  teachings.  All  Iheir  philosophiz- 
ings  as  to  sin,  I  most  heartily  reject,  as  you  know ;  and 
also  their  belief  in  the  intuition  of  man,  as  a  sufficient 
and  infallible  guide.  But  I  am  constrained  to  admit 
the  force  of  the  rationalistic  objections  against  the  Bible 
as  a  revelation  from  heaven.  On  this  assumption,  it 
contains,  in  my  view,  inexplicable  inconsistencies  and 
contradictions.  We  should  expect  a  book  standing  on 
such  a  plane,  to  be  perfectly  accurate  in  all  its  scientific 
statements,  whereas  almost  every  advance  in  Astron- 
omy, Geology,  or  Physiology,  brings  science  more  and 
more  into  direct  conflict  with  this  reputed  revelation. 

And  the  very  first  narrative  of  the  Bible  is  altogether 
beyond  my  credence.  To  believe  that  God  made  the 
destiny,  not  only  of  Adam,  but  that  of  the  whole  hu- 
man race,  depend  upon  the  mere  act  of  taking,  or  ab- 
staining from  the  fruit  of  a  certain  tree,  seems  to  me  to 
reflect  dishonor  upon  him.  Of  the  utter  depravity  of 
human  nature  I  have  no  doubt,  but  this  account  of  its 
origin  is  too  puerile  to  command  my  assent. 

Again,  if  Christianity  has  triumphs  to  win,  it  must  be 
by  its  subjective  evidence,  —  the  legitimate  and  most 
direct  avenue  to  the  heart.  Consequently,  I  distrust 
the  utility,  as  I  do  the  fact  of  miracles.  What  does 
any  one  pretend  was  accomplished  by  those  of  Moses, 
but  the  hardening  of  many  hearts  ?  Their  object, 
therefore,  even  if  genuine,  I  cannot  discover  ;  and  I  eee 
little  evidence  for  their  authenticity,  which  might  not 
i-qually  prove  that  miracles  are  still  wrought. 

As  to  the  Old  Testament,  there  appears  to  me  a  glar- 


29-4  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

ing  inconsistency  between  some  of  its  teachings,  and 
certain  portions  of  its  history.  And  while  the  moral  law 
takes  the  highest  spiritual  ground,  the  ceremonial  seems 
objectless  and  absurd.  The  Israelites,  as  a  nation,  were 
sunk  in  barbarism,  and  were  truly  a  gross,  sensual  peo- 
ple, while  God,  according  to  their  writers,  was  a  change- 
ful and  often  vindictive  Deily,  tolerating  polygamy, 
slavery,  and  other  palpable  vices,  and  encouraging  the 
stratagems  of  war,  and  universal  rapine  and  bloodshed. 
The  sacred  lyrist  denounces  his  personal  enemies  with 
unsparing  bitterness ;  and  this  chosen  people  at  length 
prove  themselves  out  and  out  a  stupid,  arrogant,  and 
thankless  race,  and  are  cast  forth,  —  a  by-word  among 
all  nations. 

To  the  New  Testament  narratives,  I  find  little  to 
object,  and  did  I  really  credit  the  story  of  the  cross, 
even  my  cold  heart  would  not  fail  to  be  moved  by  it. 
But  I  have  made  a  sufficient  avowal  of  my  sentiments 
for  once.  Because  you  cannot  pronounce  my  absolu- 
tion, do  not,  I  beg  you,  repent  admitting  me  to  the  con- 
fessional. I  am  not  trifling,  Miss  Graham,  however 
this  may  seem  like  it.  In  the  march  of  life,  I  advance 
reluctantly,  for  I  have  no  bravado,  and  the  iron  gates  of 
death  stand  before  me  like  the  mysterious  day  of  doom. 
I  am  fain  to  utter  Aristotle's  prayer : 

'  I  entered  this  world  a  helpless  being.  I  have  lived 
anxiously.  I  depart  tremblingly.  Thou  Cause  of  all 
causes,  have  mercy  on  me.' 

If  this  be  weakness,  I  owe  you  its  confession.  I^trn 
far  from  glorying  in  my  scepticism.  It  is  a  melan- 
choly alternative,  but  one  from  which  I  have  no  escape. 

Shall  I  enclose  a  hasty  effusion  which  I  penned  dur- 
ing one  of  my  late  sleepless  nights  ? 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  205 

4  Rest !  rest !  rest !  there  is  no  other  Elysium  for  a 
heart  like  mine.' 

How  sweet  did  Life's  bright  morning  seem! 
Forever  faded  now  that  dream ! 
Enduring  friendship,  changeless  love, 
But  fleeting,  cheating  shadows  prove. 

Thee  now  I  woo,  O  welcome  Death! 
To  thee  I  yield  this  weary  breath. 
Dismal  and  dark  the  grave  may  be,  — 
'T  would  be  a  resting-place  for  uie. 


Ah!  vainly,  foolishly  I  rave 
Of  a  dear  refuge  in  the  grave; 
For,  then,  unbound,  my  soul  will  be 
Launched  trembling  on  eternity. 

Talk  not  of  islands  bright  and  fair 
Within  the  deep,  cerulean  air; 
Of  all  who  leave  this  mortal  shore, 
Their  star  is  set  —  their  history  o'er. 

I  send  this  simply  as  the  transcript  of  one  of  my 
gloomy  moods. 

MAURICE  VINTON." 

"I  think,  Mr.  Vinton,  I  can  in  some  degree  appre- 
ciate the  impressions  made  upon  you  by  the  noble 
monuments  of  that  great  art-land.  And  I  can  read- 
ily believe  that  'Corinne,'  with  its  lofty  sentiments  and 
glowing  descriptions,  must  be  an  appropriate  com- 
panion fora  traveller  in  beautiful  Italy.  As  to  forgiv- 
ing Oswald,  I  am  compelled  to  own  that  my  magnan- 
imity does  not  rise  so  high. 

But  what  shall  I  say  to  the  shadows  which  seem  to 
increase  around  you  ?  Except  for  my  hope  in  God,  I' 
should  not  have  the  courage  to  venture  another  word. 


296  MARION    GRAHAM; 

I  cannot  contradict  what  you  say  of  the  Israelites. 
They  were  indeed  a  rude  people,  and  apparently  sunk 
as  low  in  Naturalism  as  any  of  the  tribes  around  them. 
With  an  environment  wholly  lacking  in  spiritual  or 
even  moral  elements ;  with  all  the  external  influences 
tending  to  drag  them  down  still  further ;  proverbially 
stiff-necked,  and  forever  bent  on  going  backward,  can 
there  be  a  greater  marvel  than  the  lifting  up  of  such  a 
people,  not  only  to  a  pure  Monotheism,  but  to  a  spirit- 
ual conception  of  God?—  the  raising  them  from  gross 
carnality  to  the  acceptance  of  the  most  exalted  ethical 
code  the  world  had  ever  seen? 

The  '  anti-historic  power'  which  accomplished  this, — 
which,  against  the  very  grain  and  trend  of  a  whole 
nation,  trains  it  to  be  the  receptacle  and  the  vehicle  of 
divine  truth,  —  this  power  certainly  works  contrary  to 
all  ordinary  evolution.  Do  we  not  see  here  the  clear- 
est evidence  of  a  higher  and  spiritual  guidance,  a 
supernatural  leadership  in  the  selection  and  education, 
through  the  ages,  of  this  one  people  ? 

It  seems  to  have  been  a  part  of  God's  providence 
to  assign  to  different  nations  certain  distinct  contri- 
butions to  the  history  of  mankind.  With  the  Greeks, 
it  was  art  and  philosophy ;  with  the  Romans,  law  and 
dominion ;  with  the  Teutonic  race,  liberty ;  with  the 
Jews,  the  power  and  the  character  of  righteousness. 

But  with  what  an  inexhaustible  amount  of  time  and 
patience  and  forbearance  and  of  skilful  devisings  was 
this  last  contribution  effected  !  "  Objectless  and  ab- 
surd' as  the  ceremonial  law  may  appear  in  the  light  of 
the  Gospel  dispensation,  it  certainly  seems  to  have 
been  admirably  adapted,  with  its  multiplicity  of  types 
and  extended  ritualism,  to  the  peculiar  needs  of  the 


OH,    HlGHKlt  THAN   HAPPINESS.  297 

Israelites.  It  was  their  drill-master,  as  well  as  their 
school-master  to  bring  them  unto  God.  It  fur- 
nished them,  in  the  childhood  of  their  religious 
history,  with  object  lessons  of  external  regulations, 
to  which  they  were  held  with  the  utmost  rigor  till 
the  time  was  fulfilled  when  they  could  be  introduced 
to  the  veritable  substance  of  all  this  symbolism  in  the 
spiritual  teachings  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ. 

Yet  we  cannot  fail  to  notice  that  all  along,  and  in 
the  strongest  possible  terms,  they  were  warned  against 
substituting  the  symbol  for  the  reality.  The  bearing 
of  the  ceremonial  law  seems  therefore  to  have  been, 
to  the  enforcement  of  the  moral  precepts  of  the  Deca- 
logue. And  it  is  maintained  by  thorough  Biblical 
students,  that  a  careful  analysis  of  it  discloses  its  pro- 
found wisdom,  as  a  scheme  of  ethical  and  religious 
culture  in  that  rude  age.  That,  after  all  the  labor 
bestowed  upon  them,  the  Jews  should  have  become  a 
race  of  outcasts,  proves  their  utter  perversity,  and  is 
a  literal  fulfilment  of  prophecy. 

You  regard  Science  as  antagonistic  to  Revelation. 
Is  it  not  rather  with  Theology  that  it  is  in  conflict?  — 
the  latter  being  the  interpreter  of  Revelation  as  really 
as  the  former  is  of  Nature.  But  are  they  not  both 
often  misinterpreters  ? 

Certain  scientific  theories  are  no  sooner  adopted 
than  by  the  discovery  of  other  facts  they  are  neces- 
sarily abandoned.  In  the  same  way  certain  theological 
theories,  deduced  sometimes  from  the  literal  sense  of 
the  Word,  prove  to  be  grave  misinterpretations. 

It  was  thus  with  the  theory  of  creation  which  was 
formulated  in  the  Assembly's  Catechism  as  'God's 
making  all  things  of  nothing,  by  the  word  of  his 


zy»  MARION   GRAHAM; 

power,  in  the  space  of  six  days.'  When  scientific 
investigations  nullified  this  theory,  devout  theologians 
went  into  battle,  feeling  that  the  very  foundations 
were  being  undermined. 

With  similar  conscientious  zeal  the  same  warfare 
has  been  waged  against  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  as 
if  its  acceptance  would  drive  God  out  of  his  own 
world.  Such  men  may  have  unwavering  faith  in 
their  own  system  of  thought,  but  they  certainly  have 
not  absolute  faith  in  God. 

Besides,  the  conflict  on  both  sides  is  often  carried 
on  with  mere  theories.  The  hypotheses  and  infer- 
ences of  scientific  men  are  frequently  the  sole  ground 
of  their  antagonism  to  the  Supernatural,  thus  render- 
ing impossible  from  their  standpoint  any  true  har- 
mony of  science  with  religion. 

But  since  Nature  and  Revelation  came  alike  from 
God,  how  is  it  possible  there  should  be  any  contradic- 
tion between  them  ?  As  both  Theology  and  Science 
are  progressive,  there  must  surely  come  a  time  when 
they  will  cease  to  confront  each  other  as  foes. 

And  even  now,  while  many  votaries  of  Science  dis- 
pute the  Supernatural,  the  congruity  of  the  two  is 
beautifully  exhibited  in  such  lives  as  those  of  Agassiz 
and  Asa  Gray.  Where  the  spiritual  insight  and  exper- 
ience exist,  there  will  be  the  spiritual  vision.  The 
men  who  possess  this,  as  well  as  the  scientific  vision, 
will  certainly  discern  the  kingdom  of  God  on  the 
earth  as  well  as  in  the  heavens,  and  will  include  both 
Nature  and  Revelation  in  one  complete  system  of 
knowledge.  Where  the  common  ground  offered  to  both 
in  the  spiritual  nature  of  man  is  denied  or  even 
ignored,  Science  and  Religion  must  always  remain 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  299 

estranged.  Says  Bishop  Temple  in  one  of  his  Bamp- 
ton  lectures  at  Oxford,  — 

*  It  is  plain  that  the  antagonism  between  Science 
and  Religion  arises  much  more  from  a  difference  of 
spirit  and  temper  in  the  students  of  each  than  from 
any  inherent  opposition  between  the  two.  The  man 
of  Science  is  inclined  to  shut  out  from  consideration 
a  whole  body  of  evidence,  —  the  moral  and  spiritual ; 
the  believer  is  inclined  to  shut  out  the  physical.  And 
each,  from  long  looking  at  that  evidence  alone  which 
properly  belongs  to  his  own  subject,  is  inclined  to 
hold  the  other  cheap,  and  to  charge  on  those  who 
adduce  it  either  blindness  of  understanding,  or  wilful 
refusal  to  accept  the  truth.  And  when  such  a  conflict 
arises,  it  is  the  higher  and  not  the  lower,  it  is  Faith 
and  not  Science,  that  is  likely  to  suffer.  For  the 
physical  evidence  is  tangible,  and  the  perception  of  it 
not  much  affected  by  the  character  of  the  man  who 
studies  it;  the  spiritual  evidence  stands  unshaken 
in  itself,  but  it  is  hid  from  eyes  that  have  110  spirit- 
ual perception.' 

Since  the  receipt  of  your  last  letter,  I  have  been 
reading  with  deep  interest  several  books  brought  me 
by  a  ministerial  friend.  Among  these  are  Bushneirs 
Nature  and  the  Supernatural,  Newman  Smyth's 
Old  Faith  in  New  Liyhta,  Munger's  Freedom  <>J' 
Faith,  and  the  Duke  of  Argyle's  Jteit/n  of  Law 
and  Unity  of  Nature.  Most  earnestly  do  I  wish 
that  you  also  might  read  them,  as  I  feel  assured  they 
would  relieve  some  of  your  difficulties.  From  the 
last  named  book,  I  cannot  forbear  giving  you  a  long 
passage,  as  it  bears  directly  on  the  point  under  dis- 
cussion;— 


300  MARION   GRAHAM; 

4  Let  destructive  criticism,  then,  do  its  work.  But 
let  that  work  be  subjected  to  the  same  rigid  analysis 
which  it  professes  to  employ.  Under  this  analysis, 
unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  the  processes  of  the 
Negative  Philosophy  will  be  found  defective.  They 
systematically  suppress  more  than  one  half  of  the 
facts;  and  as  systematically,  they  silence  more  than 
one  half  of  the  faculties  of  man.  Moreover,  the 
faculties  which  they  especially  try  to  silence  are  the 
very  highest  faculties  of  discernment  which  Nature 
gives  to  us.  In  the  physical  sciences,  we  know  what 
results  would  follow  from  such  methods  of  treatment. 
Our  work  in  the  human  laboratory  is  poor  and  weak 
enough,  and  of  a  thousand  substances,  having  marvel- 
lous properties,  we  can  give,  after  all  is  done,  only  a 
poor  and  beggarly  account.  But  at  least  in  these 
fields  of  research  we  do  our  very  best.  Nothing  is 
thrown  aside.  Nothing  is  unobserved.  Nothing  is 
unrecorded.  Every  particle  is  kept  that  it  may  tell 
its  story.  Nor  is  our  care  confined  to  the  atoms  or 
the  molecules  which  can  be  weighed  or  measured. 
For  when  the  visible  is  transcended,  we  strain  all  the 
powers  of  language  to  express  the  purely  intellectual 
conceptions  of  Force  and  Energy,  of  Affinity  and  of 
Attraction,  which  we  needed  to  help  our  understand- 
ing of  the  facts  and  of  their  dynamical  interpretations. 
With  all  these  helps,that  understanding  remains  im- 
perfect. Yet  in  the  far  more  difficult  work  of  inter- 
preting the  vasts}-stem  of  Nature,  with  all  its  immeas- 
urable wealth  of  Mind,  the  Agnostic  philosophy 
deliberately  sets  aside  everything  that  is  kindred 
with  the  highest  parts  of  our  own  moral  and  intellec- 
tual structure.  These  are  all  absolutely  excluded 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  301 

from  the  meanings  and  the  sequences — from  the 
anticipations  and  the  analogies  of  Creation.  That 
which  pretends  to  be  the  universal  solvent  of  all 
knowledge,  and  of  all  belief,  will  be  found  to  be  des- 
titute of  any  power  to  convict  of  falsehood  the  univer- 
sal instinct  of  Man  that  by  a  careful  and  conscientious 
use  of  the  appropriate  means  —  by  listening  to  the 
appropriate  voices  —  he  can  and  he  does  attain  —  in 
the  spiritual  regions  of  the  Invisible,  as  well  as  in  the 
material  regions  of  the  Physical  World  —  to  a  substan- 
tial knowledge  of  the  Truth.' 

Let  me  tax  your  patience  by  two  brief  extracts 
more,  exhibiting  the  difference  between  a  humble, 
confiding  Christian,  and  that  self-reliant  spirit, 
Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli.  Says  the  former,  — 

'To  the  praise  and  glory  of  God's  name  be  it  spoken, 
I  have  substantial  reasons  to  call  these  my  better 
days,  —  in  which  I  am  visited  with  incurable  disease. 
They  are  not  only  my  better,  but  my  best  days, 
because,  through  grace,  I  am  thus  enabled  to  cultivate 
the  life  of  faith: 

Says  the  latter :  '  O  God  !  help  me,  is  all  my  cry. 
Yet  I  have  little  faith  in  the  paternal  love  I  need,  so 
ruthless  or  so  negligent  seems  the  government  of  this 
earth.  I  feel  calmly,  yet  sternly,  towards  fate.  I 
submit,  because  useless  resistance  is  degrading.  But 
T  demand  an  explanation.' 

According  to  her  biographer,  self-culture  was  the 
great  end  of  Margaret  Fuller's  life.  I  feel  the  highest 
admiration  for  her  earnestness,  her  powers  of  endur- 
ance and  sacrifice,  and  her  lofty  aims.  Yet  those 
divine  words  steal  over  me,  '  Wherefore  do  ye  spend 
your  money  for  that  which  is  not  bread,  and  your 


302  MARION  GRAHAM; 

labor  for  that  which  satisfieth  not?'  Had  she  been 
willing  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  crucified  One,  the  lim- 
itations and  struggles  of  life  would  have  been  quietly 
accepted  as  the  discipline  of  a  kind  Father,  and  life 
itself  would  have  become  harmonious.  Wearily  I 
turn  away  from  these  vain  aspirations  and  exhausting 
emotions.  In  the  sweet  shadow  of  the  Cross  is  the 
fulness  of  plenty,  and  the  deep  peace  of  rest,  and  com- 
plete satisfaction.  Would  that  you  believed  this! 
Then  you  would  not  so  sorrowfully  exclaim,  '  Rest ! 
Rest!  Rest!' 

Shall  I  venture  to  send  an  answering  voice  to  your 
sad  refrain?  He  whose  promises  never  fail  hath 
said,  — 

'  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  who  labor  and  are  heavy- 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.' 

Pilgrim  o'er  life's  desert  dreary, 

Heavy-laden  and  oppressed ; 
Way-worn,  sorrowful  and  weary, 

Ever  yearning  after  rest;  — 

Are  thine  aching  eyes  and  tearful 

Dim  with  looking  for  the  light  ? 
Lo  !  the  star  of  Peace  celestial 

Sparkles  on  the  brow  of  night ! 

On  that  star  but  fix  thy  vision ;  — 

O'er  thee  shall  glad  morning  burst; 
Stilled  shall  be  thy  restless  yearnings, 

Quenched  thy  soul's  immortal  thirst. 

Weep  not  then  in  hopeless  anguish 
Through  this  dark,  bewildering  night; 

Let  thy  tired,  aching  spirit 
Rest  upon  the  Infinite. 


OR,  HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  303 

In  this  sweet  and  heavenly  union 

Will  thy  fears  and  doublings  cease. 
Soon  shall  come  the  white-winged  angel, 

Bear  thee  to  the  land  of  peace. 

There,  is  felt  no  parting  anguish, 

Passions  wild  disturb  no  more;  — 
Ne'er  a  wave  of  sorrow  breaketh 

On  that  sunlit,  tranquil  shore. 

I  cannot  help  hoping  that,  if  you  travel  further, 
you  will  visit  Palestine.  I  am  almost  sure  that  such 
an  appeal  to  your  heart  as  would  be  made  by  that 
land,  so  full  of  sacred  and  touching  associations,  would 
be  far  more  effective  in  overcoming  your  scepticism, 
than  the  most  cogent  theological  arguments.  If  you 
go,  will  you  riot,  amid  those  hallowed  scenes,  read  the 
story  of  our  Saviour's  life  and  death? 

MARION  GRAHAM." 


304  MARION   GRAHAM; 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

'*  Zeal,  without  judgment,  is  an  evil,  though  it  be  zeal  unto  good." 

"  IF  I  were  going  to  live  in  the  city,  and  supposed  I 
could  exert  the  smallest  influence,  I  should  be  inclined 
to  enter  upon  a  private  crusade  against  some  of  the 
follies  of  fashionable  society." 

"  A  herculean  task,  benevolent  Marion,  in  which 
years  of  eloquent  labor  would  find  you  not  one  whit 
advanced.  But  upon  what  frivolity  would  you  first 
make  war  ?  " 

"I  think  I  should  commence  with  fancy  dancing; 
and  I  would  not  give  o'er,  till  I  had  fought  it  to  the 
death." 

"  Mercy  on  us !  What  then,  in  the  name  of  all  that 
is  pitiful,  wrould  become  of  our  exquisites,  who  know 
how  to  do  nothing  in  the  wide  world,  except  to  waltz, 
and  stare  at  the  ladies  through  an  opera-glass." 

"  Then  let  them  stare ;  and,  when  wearied  of  this, 
go  home  and  sleep,  in  which  I  suppose  they  have  some 
experience." 

"  Alas !  it  makes  me  sigh  to  think  what  a  long  list 
of  broken  hearts  would  be  the  result  of  your  cruel 
reform.  Why,  there  are  people  who  accept  of  the  con- 
dition of  life,  solely  for  the  glorious  opportunities  of 
waltzing  which  it  affords  them.  How  in  the  world 
could  such  whirling  creatures  contrive  to  drag  through 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  305 

the  wearisome  round  of  parties,  if  dancing  were  ex- 
cluded ?  Really,  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  much  of 
an  ultra." 

"  You  need  not  try  to  frighten  me  by  a  name.  But 
if  it  were  only  the  simple,  old-fashioned  contra-dances 
and  quadrilles  of  our  grandmothers'  Ujys,  I  wouldn't 
say  a  word ;  especially  if  our  young  ladies  would  ap- 
pear in  befitting  attire,  and  go  home  in  good  season. 
In  family  gatherings  and  small  social  circles,  such 
dancing,  by  way  of  variety,  may  be  a  suitable  as  well 
as  healthful  amusement ;  and  certainly  far  preferable  to 
the  gossip  and  scandal  which  some  consider  so  delecta- 
ble." 

"  There  are  those  who  would  pronounce  you  a  here- 
tic for  being  so  liberal." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  that  name,  either.  If,  however, 
it  were  necessary  to  abjure  dancing  in  all  forms,  even 
the  most  innocent,  in  order  to  set  one's  face  against  the 
present  rage  for  gallopades,  I,  for  one,  would  be  willing 
to  bind  myself  never  to  take  a  quickstep  for  the  rest  of 
my  days." 

"  Out  upon  you,  Marie !  Be  a  nun,  then,  and  done 
with  it" 

"  Please  hear  me  through.  I  said,  if  that  were  the 
alternative ;  but  I  have  no  idea  it  is.  However,  1 
admit  that  there  is  a  great  difference  between  good 
people  as  to  what  is  expedient  in  these  matters.  Every 
OIK-,  therefore,  must  decide  the  case  conscientiously  for 
himself.'' 

"  Absurd !  As  if  there  were  any  thing  more  out  of 
the  way  in  moving  one's  feet  rapidly  and  gracefully 
over  the  floor,  than  one's  hands  over  the  piano  !  Pray, 
what  has  conscience  to  do  in  such  a  case  ?  " 


306  MARION   GRAHAM; 

"  A  great  deal,  it  may  be.  I  should  say  it  was 
wrong  for  one  even  to  dance  against  the  convictions  of 
his  conscience." 

"  A  pretty  conscience  one  must  have  to  be  sensitive 
on  such  a  point !  Really,  I  wonder  we  have  never  had 
an  anti-dancing  association.  Suppose  a  colt,  in  his 
cogitations,  should  conclude  it  sinful  to  frisk!  His 
qualms  of  conscience,  in  my  view,  would  be  just  about 
as  sensible." 

"  You  are  unjust,  dear  Lenora.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  many  young  people  scrupulously  refrain  from 
dancing  to  avoid  giving  offence  ;  —  a  regard  to  the  law 
of  Christian  charity,  which  certainly  is  to  be  hon- 
ored." 

"  But  will  get  no  honor  from  me,  nathless.  A  mod- 
est claim,  truly  !  —  that  we  are  to  give  up  every  inno- 
cent pleasure,  to  which  any  grumbling  hypochondriac,  or 
weary-of-the-world  saint  chances  to  take  exception !  I 
should  deem  myself  performing  a  veritable  act  of  Chris- 
tian charity,  to  make  such  complainers  sing  and  dance, 
nitty  willy.  What  they  need  is  charity  for  young 
people.  And  yet  you  must  indorse  this  most  unchar- 
itable charitableness." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  merely  said  that  I  respected  the 
motives  of  those  who  sacrifice  this  pleasuie  for  con- 
science' sake.  But  I  suppose  I  am  at  liberty  to  differ 
from  them.  It  seems  to  me  that  'the  golden  mean, 'if 
we  can  only  ascertain  where  it  is,  is  better  than  any 
extreme.  And  we  sometimes  lose  our  true  vantage- 
ground  by  insisting  on  too  much.  If  we  would  only 
rob  the  syren  of  her  powers  of  mischief,  nobody  could 
object  to  her  being  received  into  civilized  society.  But 
we  have  wandered  from  the  point.  The  question  of 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  307 

promiscuous  waltzing  is  what  I  began  with.  What 
business  have  we,  pray,  with  the  semi-barbarous  prac- 
tices of  dissolute  courts,  especially  when  they  outrage 
common  decency  ?  " 

"  Fie  upon  you !  Are  you  aware  how  many  charm- 
ing  people  you  are  condemning?  " 

"  I  cannot  help  it.  I  am  determined  for  once  to  free 
my  mind.  The  blandishments  and  languishments,  the 
nnmaidenly  style  of  dress,  and  the  ridiculous  propinqui- 
ties that  one  observes  by  the  wholesale  in  connection 
with  waltzing,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  affirming,  ought 
io  be  interdicted  in  all  respectable  society.  And  they 
would  be,  except  that  our  young  people  early  become 
hardened  to  them,  as  the  Spanish  ladies  do  to  looking 
upon  bull-fights." 

"  Worse  and  worse  !  I  beg  you  to  pause  till  I  can 
recover  breath.  We  —  refined  ladies  and  gentlemen  — 
the  very  elite  of  New  York, — wedded  to  heathenish  prac- 
tices !  And  our  elegant  amusements  compared  to  bull- 
fights !  It  is  well  for  you  that  free  speech  is  one  of  our 
immunities." 

"  I  can  retract  nothing.  That  self-respect  so  essential 
to  true  womanhood  must  be  strangely  wanting,  when  a 
refined  young  lady  can,  for  one  moment,  tolerate  the 
promiscuous  and  tender  conjunctions,  and  the  disgust- 
ing liberties  authorized  by  the  present  style  of  dancing." 

"  But  refined  ladies  do  submit,  and  with  sweetest  res- 
ignation to  these  endearing  conjunctions  !" 

"  It  must  be,  then,  at  the  expense  of  true  womanly 
dignity  and  elevated  sentiment.  Let  a  young  girl  of 
delicacy  and  nice  instincts  make  her  first  entrance  into 
gay  company,  and  I  venture  to  assert  that  she  will  be 
disgusted,  if  not  shocked  by  these  things." 


308  MARION   GRAHAM; 

"  How  delightful  if  our  Sir  Charles  Grandison  could 
only  have  heard  this  most  eloquent  tirade  !  I  don't  be- 
lieve he  could  have  done  the  thing  better  himself." 

"  In  your  heart,  Lenora,  I  have  not  a  doubt  you  agree 
with  me." 

"  Well,  I  cannot  gainsay  you.  And  to  be  generou-, 
I  will  admit  that  I  have  heard  young  gentlemen,  who 
did  not  hesitate  to  waltz  themselves,  declare  that  it 
would  excite  their  wrath,  if  their  sisters  should  do  the 
same ;  —  illustrating  the  profound  respect  they  must  en- 
tertain for  those  obliging  young  ladies  who  are  willing 
to  be  their  partners." 

"And  this  is  only  one  out  of  the  multitude  of  things 
that  need  reformation.  Just  consider  the  yoke  of  bond- 
age which  Fashion  rivets  on  the  neck  of  her  votaries  ! 
What  a  haste  and  waste  of  appliances?  What  a  flurry 
and  skurry  and  worry  to  keep  ahead  in  this  disgraceful 
competition  !  What  an  absorption  of  one's  energies  ! 
What  a  wear  and  tear  of  one's  vital  forces  !  And  there 
is  no  escape.  You  go  to  the  springs  or  the  seaside  for  a 
bit  of  quiet.  Alas !  Fashion  has  preceded  you  with  her 
endless  train  of  mammoth  trunks,  bags,  and  band-boxes. 
Her  claims  are  as  loud  as  ever.  Her  spell  is  still  upon 
you.  Not  one  minute's  cessation.  There  is,  for  her 
victims,  absolutely  no  refuge  from  her  tyranny  but  in 
the  grave.  Even  the  numberless  sewing-machines, 
that  were  hailed  as  the  harbinger  of  a  better  day  for 
woman,  seem  only  to  enslave  her  the  more.  What 
is  gained  by  them  is  not  more  time  for  reading  and 
writing  and  study,  as  was  so  grandly  predicted ;  but 
more  tucks  and  flounces,  and  quilling  and  frilling, 
and  hemming  and  trimming.  Not  that  I  mean  to  im- 
plicate the  innocent  machine.  It  was  invented  as  a 


OH,    11 IUI1  Ell   THAN   HAPPINESS.  309 

friend  to  woman,  but  is  made  to  grind  in  the  house 
of  her  enemies." 

"That  is  all  very  true.  And  the  fashions  are  often 
perfectly  absurd.  Yet  a  lady  might  as  well  go  out  of 
the  world,  as  set  her  face  against  any  custom  in  fash- 
ionable life." 

"  Let  her  go  out  of  such  a  world  then  ;  and,  in 
nobler  employments,  live  to  some  purpose." 

"  But  what  would  become  of  Harper,  Punch,  and  a 
host  of  that  ilk,  if  obliged  to  dispense  with  their 
ridiculous  illustrations  of  these  follies?" 

"  Plenty  of  frivolities  would  remain  to  be  shown 
up  ;  and  I  would  therefore  risk  their  stagnation  for 
the  lack  of  subject-matter  for  ridicule." 

"  Well,  the  question  after  all  comes  back,  —  how  is 
a  change  to  be  effected  ?  " 

"  Not,  I  imagine,  by  taking  extreme  ground.  If 
young  ladies  of  good  sense  and  decision  would  give 
the  influence  of  their  opinion  and  practice  against  all 
unjustifiable  customs,  I  am  sure  an  improvement 
would  soon  be  manifest.  You,  dear  Lenora,  have  a 
great  many  young  acquaintances,  and  are  very  popu- 
lar with  them.  Will  you  not  make  a  beginning?  " 

"  If  you  will  promise  that  I  shall  be  dubbed  Saint 
Lenora,  and  have  a  magnificent  church  for  my  name- 
sake, I  will  engage,  on  my  part,  to  take  the  matter 
into  profound  consideration.  But  of  course  I  must 
defer  all  reform  measures  till  my  return." 

"  I  can  hardly  realize  that  I  am  to  lose  you  so  soon." 

"  I  only  wish  you  were  going  with  us.  It  would  be 
worth  while  to  visit  glorious  Italy  and  the  lands  of  an- 
tiquity with  you  by  my  side.  I  suppose  I  shall  find  you 
married  and  settled  when  I  eome  back," 


310  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  Nonsense ! "  replied  Marion  with  a  sudden  flush, 
while  an  expression  of  pain  flitted  over  her  counte- 
nance. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  be  disturbed.  I  am  no  inquisi- 
tor to  stretch  you  on  the  rack.  Only,  when  you  are  act- 
ually married,  I  hope  you  will  not  consider  it  a  viola- 
tion of  propriety  to  inform  me  of  the  fact." 

The  day  of  the  departure  arrived,  the  farewell  words 
were  exchanged,  and  Lenora,  with  her  parents,  was  on 
the  bounding  main. 

Although  Marion  was  tired  of  the  conventionalities 
and  time-killing  forms  of  city  life,  yet  she  had  promised 
to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  her  cousin,  whom  she  found 
the  same  affectionate  little  body  as  ever. 

As  they  sat  together  one  day,  Julia,  according  to  her 
old  fashion,  placed  herself  on  a  stool  at  her  cousin's 
feet,  and  looking  archly  into  her  face,  said, — 

"  Now  please  tell  me  all  about  my  dear  old  Mentor." 

"  You  know  he  has  gone  abroad,"  replied  Marion 
with  some  reserve. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course  I  know  that.  But  don't  look  so 
dignified.  Simple  as  I  was,  you  could  not  have  thought 
me  so  blind  as  not  to  see  that  there  was  something  be- 
tween you.  And  I  expected  long  ago  to  hear  of  your 
engagement." 

"  I  hope  you  have  said  nothing  of  this  to  Lenora." 

"  Not  a  word.  I  should  though,  only  Mr.  McKinstry 
told  me  I  had  better  not,  and  I  always  do  as  he  says, 
you  know." 

"  You  are  a  dear  little  wife,  and  worth  a  whole  room- 
full  of  dashing  girls,  such  as  many  I  have  seen  in  your 
city.  Now  let  me  say  once  for  all  that  there  is  nothing 


OR,    HIGHKK    THAN    HAPPINKSS.  311 

between  Mr.  Vinton  and  myself.  And  when  I  tell  you 
that  it  pains  me  to  have  the  subject  mentioned,  I  am 
*ure  you  will  not  name  him  again." 

"  I  will  not,  dear  Marie.  But  I  am  so  disappointed. 
Why  I  named  our  baby  as  much  to  please  him  as  you. 
And  I  owe  him  so  much." 

"  I  assure  you  it  i.s  a  great  satisfaction  to  have  such  a 
namesake,  and  I  hope  this  will  content  you.  Now,  let 
us  adjourn  into  the  nursery." 

Marion  was  soon  enjoying  a  fine  game  of  romps  with 
her  pet,  who  was  just  learning  to  walk.  The  little 
witch  would  catch  hold  of  her  hands  and  clamber  into 
her  lap.  And  then,  in  utter  defiance  of  all  danger  to 
herself  or  discomfort  to  Marion,  she  would  walk  all 
over  her,  not  even  excepting  her  face  from  the  joyous 
pastime,  evidently  supposing  that  to  serve  as  a  play- 
ground for  her  little  ladyship  was  the  special  purpose 
for  which  Marion  had  been  created.  Then  she  would 
rumple  her  collar,  and,  slily  taking  out  her  combs,  would 
pull  down  her  long  hair  all  over  her  face,  that  she  might 
play  at  peep-boo  through  it.  And  the  more  entirely  she 
succeeded  in  putting  Marion  into  complete  dishabille, 
the  more  kisses  and  caresses  and  praises  did  she  get 
from  the  latter  as  her  reward. 

Before  she  went  to  Mr.  McKinstry's,  Marion  had 
heard  of  old  Mr.  Vinton's  death,  and  also  that  Mr. 
Maynard  had  received  a  call  to  become  a  colleague 
with  Mr.  Morton.  Now,  a  letter  came  from  Brentford, 
informing  her  that  a  sweet  birdling,  Bessie  the  second, 
had  alighted  in  the  Maynard  nest,  and  that  the  mother's 
health  was  very  frail. 

"  We  therefore,"  said  Mr.  Maynard, "  unitedly  implore 
you  to  hasten  your  visit.  It  is  true  that  we  expect  to 


312  MAUION    GBAHAM; 

remove  to  Glenwood  in  the  spring,  but  Bessie's  heart 
is  set  on  seeing  you  here,  and  I  feel  assured  you  will 
not  disappoint  her." 

It  was  an  uncomfortable  day  when  Marion  left  the 
city  for  Brentford.  Taking  her  seat  in  the  cars,  she 
found  the  air  so  close  that  she  raised  a  window  for  re- 
lief. The  cold,  leaden  sky  looked  down  unsympathiz- 
ingly  upon  her,  while  the  damp  air  struck  her  with  a 
sudden  chill.  As  she  was  whirled  rapidly  along,  her 
thoughts  travelled  over  the  events  of  the  last  few  years  ; 
—  her  studies  with  her  father,  Bessie's  wedding,  her 
German  teacher,  with  those  mouths  of  sweet  dreaming; 
then  the  sudden  and  bitter  awaking,  the  loss  of  prop- 
erty, her  father's  death,  the  bitter  trials  that  followed, 
the  journey  to  Camsford,  her  weak  credulity  in 
Mr.  Perley's  professions,  and  the  snare  into  which  she 
consequently  fell,  her  happy  rescue,  and  the  subsequent 
recovery  of  her  estate.  Nor  did  she  fail  to  recall  the  love 
of  Mr.  Sunderland,  and  his  manly  and  disinterested 
kindness.  And  with  what  intensity  did  she  dwell  upon 
the  letters  of  Maurice,  —  the  frail  thread  upon  which 
hung  all  her  hopes  of  earthly  happiness !  As  she  re- 
flected how  full  of  doubt  and  melancholy  they  were, 
she  cast  a  sickening  glance  at  the  future.  "  Nothing 
but  changes  and  disappointment  and  sorrow !  How 
sweet  will  be  the  rest  in  my  Father's  house ! " 

In  the  midst  of  these  musings,  she  reached  Brent- 
ford, where  she  was  received  with  abundant  welcomes. 
But  sad  forebodings  stole  over  her  at  the  sight  of  Bes- 
sie's pale  face,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  she  could  con- 
trol her  feelings  to  greet  the  smiling  infant. 

In  the  course  of  the  week,  at  her  own  request,  Mr. 
Maynard  called  with  Marion  on  Elsie  Green.  After 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  313 

this  introduction,  she  went  frequently  to  see  her.  And 
one  day  having  received  some  hot-house  flowers,  she 
carried  a  part  of  them  to  her  aged  friend. 

"  Ah !  but  now  you  mind  me  o'  that  sweet  young 
man,  Mrs.  Maynard's  brother.  He  used  to  bring  me 
heaps  o'  flowers.  Does  you  know  him  ?  " 

The  blood  mounted  to  Marion's  face  as  she  bowed 
in  assent,  and  for  a  moment  Elsie's  small  eyes  were 
fixed  keenly  upon  her.  She  seemed  satisfied  with  her 
scrutiny,  and,  in  a  musing  tone,  she  said,  — 

"  He  was  a  raal  jintleman  ivery  way,  and  only  lacked 
one  thing!  May  the  Lord  soon  g'in  it  to  him!  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Marion ;  "  if  he  were  only  a  Chris- 
tian!  But  he  seems  more  and  more  opposed  to  the 
truths  of  the  Bible." 

"  Niver  you  fear  for  him  !  He's  'mong  the  'lect,  sar- 
tin.  But  he's  got  a  great  mind,  and  he  hankers  to 
reason  every  thing  all  out  square.  But  nobody  can't 
do't.  And  he  can't  do't  nuther.  T'ant  no  manner  o' 
use  argufying  with  him.  But  he's  sure.  Haven't  I 
prayed  for  him  believinly  ivery  day,  and  oftener?  And 
a'nt  the  promise  made  to  sich  ?  Have  faith,  dear  miss," 
said  she,  laying  her  hand  kindly  on  Marion's  arm  as 
she  met  her  earnest  gaze,  "  for  jist  as  sartin  as  the 
warm  sunbeams  of  spring  '11  thaw  the  ice  in  this  ere 
bay,  so,  some  day  or  another,  a  shinin'  ray  o'  God's  love 
will  touch  his  heart,  and  it'll  be  all  melted  down  to 
once.  And  he's  one  what  won't  stop  half-way  nuther. 
Twon'tbe  the  halt  and  maimed  with  him,  but  he'll  g'in 
hisself  right  out,  a  whole  burnt-sacrifice." 

In  spite  of  all  Marion's  efforts,  the  tears  would  fall, 
and  from  Elsie's  unwonted  tenderness,  she  was  sure  she 
had  divined  her 


314  MARION   GKAHAM  ; 

One  day  when  Mr.  Maynard  was  out,  he  heard  that 
Elsie  Green  was  sick.  He  went  to  the  old  place,  and 
inquiring  of  one  of  the  neighbors  who  was  present 
what  was  the  matter,  she  replied,  — 

"  Well,  sir,  the  doctor  says  she's  got  a  compilation  of 
disorders.  In  the  fust  place,  she  was  taken  all  of  a 
crim;  then  a  rebellious  fever  sot  in  ;  and  last  night  she 
was  ravin'  melirious.  And  the  doctor  —  he  fears  her 
brains  are  gettin'  disaffected,  and  says  maybe  she'll  go 
off  in  a  sleepin'  letherargy" 

As  Elsie  expressed  a  wish  to  see  her  minister  alone, 
the  neighbors  left  the  room. 

"  I  wants  to  tell  you,  that  I've  been  a  savin'  my 
money  presents  agin  my  funeral,  for  I  don't  like  some- 
how to  come  on  the  town  arter  I  am  dead.  If  you'll 
jist  open  that  are  upper  drawer,  'way  back  there  in  the 
farder  corner,  ye'll  find  twenty  dollars  tied  up  in  a  rag. 
I  wants  you  to  take  it  to  have  me  decently  buried  with, 
for  the  token's  come,  and  I  shan't  be  here  long." 

He  promised  to  do  all  she  wished,  much  affected  by 
her  true  delicacy.  She  then  particularly  requested  that 
Miss  Graham  would  call  the  next  day. 

Before  leaving  the  house,  Mr.  Maynard  spoke  to 
those  who  were  with  her  of  the  importance  of  removing 
her  oppressive  turban.  They  answered  that  they  had 
tried  several  times  to  do  so,  but  as  she  clung  tena- 
ciously to  it  with  both  hands,  they  had  desisted  from 
their  attempts. 

In  accordance  with  Elsie's  request,  Marion  called  the 
next  day.  Surprised  to  see  her  with  a  cap  on.  a  neigh- 
bor told  her  that  when  she  repeated  Mr.  Maynard's 
remark  about  the  turban,  the  old  woman  took  it  straight 
off,  saying,  "  I  ain't  the  one  to  set  my  minister  to 
nought." 


OK,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPD?ESS.  315 

Being  left  by  themselves,  Elsie  said,  — 

"  I  wants  you  to  write  to  Mr.  Vinton  my  dyin'  mes- 
sage. Tell  him  I  ha'n't  forgot  his  goodness  to  poor 
Elsie,  and  that  I  thought  a  deal  o'  him  jist  as  I  was  a 
steppin'  my  feet  into  the  cold  river,  what  he  and  I 
talked  about  And  that  I  had  no  fear,  but  could  see 
the  bright  shore  on  t'other  side  as  plain  as  I  now  see 
yer  young  face,  only  with  different  eyes.  And  tell  him 
I'se  sure  o'  meetin'  him  there,  for  I'se  prayed  for  him 
arnest  and  believing  and  I've  had  the  answer  right  here 
in  my  heart  Take  that  ar'  precious  Testament  ye  sees 
on  that  settle,  and  g'in  it  to  him  as  a  keepsake  from  old 
Elsie  jist  on  her  way  to  glory.  The  Lord  bless  ye 
both,  dear  child !  How  it'll  be  with  you  on  arth,  I 
dunno,  for  God  takes  curis  ways  with  us.  But  it'll  all 
be  right)  hows'ever  it  is,  and  ye'll  say  so  when  ye  get 
to  heaven.  Now,  farewell,  dear  Miss." 

Elsie  was  not  mistaken.  Her  token  had  indeed 
come,  and  tranquil  was  her  departure  for  the  eternal 
shores.  Her  funeral  was  in  the  church,  and  was  at- 
tended by  a  large  assembly.  It  was  a  long  procession 
that  slowly  wound  through  the  crooked  streets  and  fol- 
lowed her  remains  to  the  quiet  old  graveyard  on  the  hill. 

The  day  after,  poor  Brindy  was  found  near  the  an- 
cient settle,  but  life  had  been  extinct  for  some  hours. 

Elsie  Green  had  no  more  sincere  mourner  than  Mrs. 
Maynard.  She  had  been  bolstered  up  in  a  rocking 
chair  to  see  the  procession  pass.  And  when  Mr.  May- 
nard and  Marion  returned,  they  found  her  leaning  on 
her  hand,  while  tears  were  slowly  trickling  through  her 
fingers.  They  sat  down  on  each  side  of  her,  while 
Mr.  Maynard  spoke  of  the  bright  world  to  which  Elsie 
had  gone. 


316  '    MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  What  a  contrast,"  said  he,  "  to  her  dingy,  dismantled 
room !  And  yet,  dear  Bessie,  how  hard  you  labored  to 
make  that  room  comfortable." 

"  And  how  much  I  owed  her! "  said  she,  looking  up  in 
his  face  with  a  sweet  smile.  "  The  lesson  she  taught 
me  sank  so  deep  in  my  heart,  that  I  don't  think  I  have 
ever  quite  forgotten  it." 

Something  in  her  tone  and  expression  deeply  moved 
her  auditors.  Tenderly  kissing  her,  Mr.  Maynard  left 
the  room,  while  Marion  clasped  her  hand  in  silence.  Di- 
vining Bessie's  wishes,  she  overcame  her  reluctance  to 
approach  the  dreaded  subject,  and  allowed  her  friend 
the  free  expression  of  her  feelings.  That  evening  she 
reported  their  conversation  to  Mr.  Maynard,  who  was 
completely  unmanned. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  Bessie's  impressions,  hope  was 
still  strong.  The  physicians  all  said  that  if  Mrs.  May- 
nard could  only  get  through  the  winter,  there  would  be 
no  doubt  of  her  recovery. 

"  If"  repeated  Marion ;  "  alas,  his  hopes  are  resting 
on  a  frail  reed !  " 

For  a  long  time  she  had  anticipated  this  visit,  as  one 
in  which  she  should  gain  strength  and  courage.  It  had 
only  brought  her  into  circumstances  of  fresh  sorrow. 
She  had  longed  for  the  ministrations  of  her  friends,  but 
she  found  that  God  had  placed  her,  where,  forgetting 
herself,  she  must  minister  unto  others. 

"  So  be  it,"  she  said,  as  burdened  with  a  sad  presenti- 
ment concerning  the  result  of  Bessie's  sickness,  she  one 
night  laid  her  weary  head  upon  her  pillow.  "  If  every 
ray  of  sunshine  must  be  blotted  out  of  my  life,  before  I 
can  be  fitted  for  heaven,  God's  will  be  done." 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  317 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


"  And  bore  her  where  I  could  not  see, 
Nor  follow,  though  I  walk  in  haste, 
And  think  that,  somewhere  in  the  waste, 
The  Shadow  sits  and  waits  for  me." 

"A  LETTER  for  you,  Marion,"  said  Mr.  Maynard  signifi- 
cantly, when  they  were  alone  one  day  in  the  parlor. 

Giving  a  single  glance  at  the  superscription,  she 
hastened  to  her  own  room,  and,  with  what  composure 
she  could,  read  the  following  epistle  from  Rome  :  — 

"  As  yet,  Miss  Graham,  I  have  said  nothing  of  the 
tricks  and  jugglery  attendant  upon  all  religious  services 
in  this  country.  Here,  the  greater  the  lie,  the  greater 
the  honor  to  Christianity.  I  am  sick  of  these  Christian 
ceremonies,  and  of  these  saints,  —  I  might  well  say, 
more  sick  of  saints  than  of  sinners.  This  is  my  chief 
objection  against  going  to  Palestine,  where  the  case  is 
even  worse.  I  intend  to  go,  however ;  indeed  I  leave 
shortly  for  Egypt  on  my  way  thither.  How  much  your 
wishes  have  to  do  with  this  determination,  I  need  not 
say.  It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should  tell  you  how 
sacredly  I  shall  regard  your  request  when  there. 

Many  thanks  for  'The  Answering  Voice,'  but  its 
comforting  words  are  not  for  me. 

4  The  race  of  life  becomes  a  hopeless  flight 
To  those  that  walk  in  darkness.' 

But  what  matters  it  to  you,  to  any  save  myself, 
that  my  weary  bark,  long  tossed  on  the  wild  billows 


318  MARION   GRAHAM; 

of  this  mortal  sea,  is  now  drifting  among  the  quick- 
sands ;  — that  it  will  soon  be  dashed  on  the  shores  of 
time  — a  mere  wreck? 

I  need  not  say  that  I  was  deeply  touched  by  the 
pains  you  have  taken  in  my  behalf.  And  if  not  con- 
vinced, I  am  at  least  not  ungrateful.  The  passages 
quoted  I  have  read  more  than  once,  and  I  will  not 
fail  to  procure  the  books  you  have  named,  and  give 
them  the  careful  reading  you  ask  for. 

But  my  greatest  difficulties  are  with  Christianity, 
itself.  My  present  letter  may  shock  you  more  than 
all  the  others  ;  yet  I  will  conceal  nothing.  My  whole 
being  revolts  against  the  doctrines  of  Cliristiiinity. 

If  there  be  such  a  God  as  you  suppose,  the  moral 
sentiments  which  he  has  implanted  in  the  heart,  should 
be  in  perfect  harmony  with  his  revelation  to  man. 
Now,  the  peculiar  tenets  which  people,  styling  them- 
selves orthodox,  have  deduced  from  the  Bible,  and 
which  are  drawn  out  in  '  The  Assembly's  Catechism,' 
are  obnoxious  alike  to  my  reason  and  feeling.  It  would 
take  many  sheets  fully  to  detail  my  objections,  and  ] 
will  touch  upon  only  a  few  of  them,  and  that  briefly. 

And  first :  The  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  as  commonly 
held  cannot,  I  conceive,  be  accepted  by  the  human  mind, 
without  its  admitting  Tri theism.  It  may  be  done  un- 
consciously ;  but  I  would  almost  venture  to  challenge 
any  man  to  think  of  three  persons,  without  being  neces- 
sitated to  think  of  three  distinct  individuals.  And  I 
believe  if  you  could  get  at  the  inmost  consciousness 
of  many  Trinitarians,  you  would  find  their  concep- 
tions of  the  different  persons  of  the  Trinity,  as  distinct 
and  separate,  as  of  any  three  beings  having  a  general 
harmony  of  character.  This  divine  Arithmetic,  three  in 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  ;i!9 

one,  and  one  in  three,  about  which  theologians  are  for- 
ever discussing  and  forever  differing,  is,  to  me,  utterly 
impracticable  and  absurd.  And  I  cannot  help  respecting 
the  fearless  honesty  of  one  of  America's  most  renowned 
preachers,  in  the  public  expression  of  his  views.  '  All 
that  there  is  of  God  to  me  is  bound  up  in  that  name 
(Christ  Jesus).  A  dim  and  shadowy  effluence  rises  from 
Christ,  and  that  I  am  taught  to  call  the  Father.  A  yet 
more  tenuous  and  invisible  film  of  thought  arises,  and 
that  is  the  Holy  Spirit.  But  neither  is  to  me  aught 
tangible,  restful,  accessible.'  I  have  no  doubt  that  these 
sentiments  have  found  an  echo  in  many  a  devout  heart 
numbered  in  Trinitarian  ranks.  At  any  rate,  not  a  few 
must  feel  a  sympathy  with  him  in  his  difficulty. 

Again,  the  common  doctrine  of  the  Resurrection 
seems  to  me  to  present  not  only  a  physical  and  moral 
impossibility,  but  without  any  imaginable  utility.  If 
the  soul  of  a  Christian  enters,  at  death,  into  felicity,  it 
surely  has  organs  of  reception  and  communication,  as 
well  as  an  identity  such  as  will  secure  instant  recogni- 
tion and  free  intercourse  with  other  redeemed  saints. 
But,  according  to  this  doctrine,  it  exists  an  indefinite 
number  of  ages  as  a  mere  unsubstantial  spirit,  till,  at 
length,  it  is  clothed  with  a  material  body,  which  long 
before  had  mouldered  in  the  grave,  and  passed  into 
myriads  of  different  forms,  but  which  is  somehow  mys- 
teriously brought  together  from  the  four  winds,  and 
refined  and  sublimated  into  a  spiritual  garment  suita- 
ble for  the  soul,  —  when  it  receives  the  formal  sentence 
which  has  already  been  practically  pronounced  upon  it. 
Have  I  misstated  the  doctrine  ?  And  is  it  reasonable 
to  believe  that  God  will  be  at  the  superfluous  expense 
of  such  an  almost  infinite  number  of  individual  mira- 


320  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

cles,  simply  to  furnish  the  soul  with  an  organism  which 
it  has  done  ages  without,  and  therefore  can  in  no  wise 
need  ?  —  or  that  he  will,  under  circumstances  of  great 
pomp,  award  a  last  judgment,  which  for  myriads  of 
cycles  has  been  in  process  of  execution  ? 

From  this  same  creed  I  learn  that,  'for  his  own  glory] 
God  ordained  the  existence  of  sin,  the  blighting  of  our 
fail  earth,  and  the  ruin  of  the  race ;  and  that  even  the 
sacrifice  of  his  well-beloved  Son  was  for  the  purpose  of 
displaying  his  immaculate  justice  on  the  grand  theatre 
of  an  admiring  universe.  '  For  his  own  glory,'  a  certain 
limited  number,  with  no  more  claim  to  mercy  than  their 
fellow  men,  are  '  from  all  eternity '  decreed  to  be  saved, 
however  persistent  their  efforts  at  self-destruction.  For 
this  same  end,  thousands  of  wretched  creatures,  who  are 
not  of  the  '  elect?  —  many  of  whom  have  never  received 
the  offer  of  salvation,  and  whom  God  could  annihilate 
by  a  breath,  are  every  moment  plunged  into  that  bot- 
tomless pit,  whence  the  smoke  of  their  torment  ascend- 
eth  forever.  And  at  the  final  account,  the  saints  will 
be  so  dazzled  by  the  glory  of  the  Judge,  as,  without 
emotion,  to  behold  their  kindred  and  friends  shut  up  in 
the  prison  of  God's  wrath ;  nay,  according  to  one  of 
the  greatest  champions  of  this  system,  their  own  felicity 
will  be  enhanced  by  a  sight  '  of  the  torments  of  the 
damned.'  Ah !  Miss  Graham,  such  is  not  the  God 
whom  Lean  worship.  Every  better  feeling,  every  purer 
sentiment  of  my  nature,  revolts  from  adoring  in  the 
Supreme,  what  I  should  justly  abhor  as  transcendent 
selfishness  in  an  earthly  ruler.  The  doctrine  of  eternal 
punishment  is  too  awful  to  be  contemplated  even  by 
the  human  mind,  which  cannot  grasp  the  idea.  What, 
then,  must  it  be  in  the  view  of  Him,  who  can  look 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN    HAIM'IXKSS.  321 

down  the  infinite  abyss,  and  measure  it  in  its  terrible 
length  and  breadth,  its  height  and  depth  ?  And  can 
that  be  holiness,  can  that  be  seraphic  love,  which  could 
impel  a  redeemed  spirit  to  rejoice  the  more  exultingly 
over  his  own  bliss,  because  contemplating  the  unutterable 
misery  of  his  brother  or  sister,  his  wife  or  child  ?  Nay, 
nay!  better  no  God  for  me  than  one  who  can  sit  cold  and 
impassive  on  his  throne,  while  the  beings  he  has  made 
are  writhing  in  agony  at  his  feet.  And  if  He  have  no 
pity  on  us,  let  us,  in  view  of  our  mutual  ruin,  at  least 
pity  one  another ! 

I  would  not  speak  irreverently  of  doctrines  which  are 
sacred  to  many  a  pious  heart,  and  which  you  undoubt- 
edly cherish ;  yet  if  I  speak  on  this  subject  at  all,  you 
would  not  have  me  untrue  to  my  own  convictions. 

I  sometimes  wonder  whether  you  are  really  ac- 
quainted with  the  Creed  accepted  by  Protestant 
Christendom.  As  a  child,  in  my  father's  house,  I  was 
taught 'The  Shorter  Catechism,'  although  my  uncle, 
with  whom  I  went  to  live  at  an  early  age,  repudiated 
it.  The  first  clause  of  one  of  the  answers  was  burned 
into  my  memory :  —  *  God  having,  out  of  his  mere 
good  pleasure,  from  all  eternity,  elected  some  to  ever- 
lasting life;— for  even  then,  I  shrank  from  a  God 
thus  depicted.  And  this  impression  has  grown  with 
my  years. 

To  assure  myself  that  this  repulsion  was  not  the 
result  of  prejudice,  I  have  taken  pains  to  procure  a 
copy  of  the  Westminster  'Confession  of  Faith,'  which 
I  think  is  regarded  as  the  standard  authority.  I  have 
tried  to  study  this  book  candidly,  but  there  are  pas- 
sages of  which  I  can  hardly  trust  myself  to  speak. 
Think  of  that  dreadful  doctrine  which  theologians 


822  MARION   GRAHAM; 

call  preterition  —  in  which  God  is  represented  as 
passing  by  some  of  his  children  and  ordaining  them  to 
dishonor  and  wrath;  who  cannot  therefore  be 
saved,  be  they  never  so  diligent  to  frame  their  lives 
according  to  the  light  of  nature  and  the  law  of  that  relig- 
ion they  profess. 

Had  these  dogmas  and  the  correlative  one  of  a  ma- 
terial hell  proved  a  dead  letter,  it  would  have  been  a 
different  thing.  But,  unfortunately,  they  were  em- 
braced with  a  heartiness  —  and  this  by  compassionate 
men  and  women  — that  gave  a  lurid  coloring  to  their 
lives  and  led  to  portrayals  of  their  views  which  strike 
one  with  horror. 

To  convince  you  of  this,  I  must  compel  myself  to 
an  ungracious  task. 

In  a  letter  to  her  little  son,  only  eleven  years  old, 
Abigail  Davenport  Williams,  wife  of  a  Puritan  pastor, 
represents  herself  as  looking  on  him  while  he  stands 
trembling  'before  the  Judgment-seat  of  Christ,  his 
face  gathering  blackness,  horror,  and  anguish,  and 
despair  staring  through  his  eyelids,  to  hear  the  amaz- 
ing sentence  pronounced  on  him  "  Depart,  ye  cursed  "  ; 
to  see  him  seized  by  mighty  angels,  bound  hand  and 
foot,  and  cast  into  ye  dreadful  lake  of  fire,  and  the 
adamant  gates  shut  and  barred  by  Him  that  shuts, 
and  no  man  opens.'  She  adds  that  though  these 
thoughts  pierce  her  heart,  yet  '  I  know  if  I  be  so 
happy  as  to  find  mercy  of  the  Lord  in  that  day,  I 
shall  have  no  fanciful  sympathy  with  you,  but  shall 
rather  rejoice  that  God's  justice  and  power  will  be 
forever  glorified  in  your  condemnation.' 

What,  alas,  can  I  say  of  the  following  awful  por- 
trayal of  future  punishment  by  Jonathan  Edwards, 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  323 

one  of  New  England's  most  eminent  and  devout 
religious  leaders? 

'  The  world  will  probably  be  converted  into  a  great 
lake  or  liquid  globe  of  fire,  in  which  the  wicked  shall 
be  overwhelmed ;  which  shall  always  be  in  tempest, 
in  which  they  shall  be  tossed  to  and  fro,  having  no 
rest  day  or  night,  vast  waves  or  billows  of  fire  contin- 
ually rolling  over  their  heads,  of  which  they  shall 
ever  be  full  of  a  quick  sense,  within  and  without; 
their  heads,  their  eyes,  their  tongues,  their  hands, 
their  feet,  their  loins,  and  their  vitals  shall  forever  be 
full  of  a  glowing,  melting  fire,  enough  to  melt  the 
very  rocks  and  elements.  Also  they  shall  be  full  of 
the  most  quick  and  lively  sense  to  feel  the  torments, 
not  for  ten  millions  of  ages,  but  forever  and  ever, 
without  any  end  at  all. 

'  The  damned  shall  be  tormented  in  the  presence  of 
the  holy  angels,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  Lamb,  and 
so  will  they  be  tormented  also  in  the  presence  of  the 
glorified  saints.  Hereby  the  saints  will  be  made 
more  sensible  how  great  their  salvation  is.  The  view 
of  the  misery  of  the  damned,  will  double  the  ardor  of 
the  lore  and  gratitude  of  the  saints  in  heaven  ! 

"  Here  all  judges  have  a  mixture  of  mercy  ,•  but  the 
wrath  of  God  will  be  poured  out  upon  the  wicked 
without  mixture.' 

Apart  from  all  other  considerations,  are  not  such 
dogmas  shocking  to  the  moral  sense,  especially  in  the 
selfishness  which  they  unconsciously  inculcate?  This 
same  cruel  theology  breathes  in  some  of  the  old  painters 
and  casts  its  baleful  shadow  over  much  of  the  litera- 
ture of  earlier  days,  demoralizing  their  poetry  as  well. 

The  great  Dante  makes  the  air  of  his  Inferno  trem- 


324  MARION  GRAHAM; 

ulous  with  the  sighs  of  men  and  women  and  infants, 
to  whom  his  guide  explains,  — 

'  Now  will  I  have  thee  know  ere  thou  go  farther. 
That  they  sinned  not ;  and  if  they  merit  had, 
'Tis  not  enough  because  they  had  not  Baptism  ! ' 

But  of  all  my  objections  to  Christianity,  the  most 
appalling  is  the  doctrine  of  Infant  Damnation.  As 
many  even  among  the  well-informed  deny  that  this 
has  ever  been  accepted,  I  have  taken  great  pains  to 
ascertain  the  facts. 

I  find,  alas,  that  this  fearful  doctrine  is  thoroughly 
imbedded  in  various  creeds  of  Christendom,  and  that 
it  has  been  taught  and  fought  for  all  along  the  ages 
from  the  days  of  Augustine  almost  to  the  present 
century.  It  was  in  the  pervading  atmosphere  that 
unless  infants  were  baptized,  they  were  sent  to  hell, 
and  even  baptism  did  not  ensure  their  salvation  unless 
they  were  of  the  elect. 

In  a  work   entitled  Infant  Salvation  in  the  Calvin- 
istic  System,  by   Dr.  Krauth,  a  Lutheran  divine,  this 
subject  is  examined  with  great  fulness  and  candor. 

Maresius,  a  Calvinist  of  high  renown,  cites  pas- 
sages from  Augustine  and  his  disciples,  which  teach 
that  even  those  infants  who  are  nnbaptized  because 
they  die  unborn,  are  l  to  be  punished  with  the  ever- 
lasting torment  of  eternal  fire.' 

The  same  doctrine  is  naturally  inferred  from  certain 
clauses  in  the  Westminster  Confession.  And  Dr. 
Twiss,  Prolocutor  of  the  Assembly,  affirms,  —  '  Many 
infants  depart  from  this  life  in  original  sin,  and  conse- 
quently are  condemned  to  eternal  death  ;  —  therefore 
from  the  sole  transgression  of  Adam,  condemnation 
to  eternal  death  has  followed  upon  many  infants' 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  325 

Beza  declares  that  'many  thousand  infants  receive 
Baptism  who  yet  are  never  regenerated  but  perish 
forever.' 

Marckius,  '  All  infants  born  of  unbelievers  are  by 
nature  children  of  wrath,  impure,  alien  and  remote 
from  God,  without  hope  and  left  to  themselves.  God 
has  revealed  nothing  as  decreed  or  to  be  done  for 
their  salvation.  So  that  we  ought  utterly  to  reject, 
not  only  their  salvation,  of  which  Pelagians  dream, 
but  also  the  Arminian  theory,  that  their  penalty  is 
one  of  privation  without  sensation.  The  terminus  to 
which  these  are  predestined  is  eternal  death,  destruc- 
tion, damnation.' 

Dr.  Krauth  affirms  that  the  classic  Calvinistic 
divines  substantially  agree  that  non-elect  infants, 
whether  baptized  or  not,  enter  not  upon  a  limbus  of 
loss,  — a  negative  damnation,  but  on  a  hell  of  suffer- 
ing, a  positive  and  eternal  damnation,  and  'that  they 
charge  it  upon  Rome  as  a  Pelagian  error,  that  she 
softens  unduly  the  state  of  lost  infants.' 

'The  tone  of  assurance  in  the  old  Calvinistic 
divines  in  asserting  infant  damnation  is  very  striking. 
They  not  only  do  not  doubt  the  doctrine,  but  they 
assume  that  no  man  in  his  senses  can  doubt  it.  Not 
only  is  an  argument  not  weakened  by  involving  infant 
perdition,  but  infant  perdition  stiffens  up  an  argu- 
ment otherwise  weak.  Never  was  error  more  effec- 
tually driven  to  bay,  in  their  judgment,  than  when  it 
was  shown  that  if  that  error  were  granted,  infant  sal- 
vation, or  even  the  middle  state  of  Limbus,  would 
follow.  The  doctrine  of  infant  damnation  virtually 
formed  a  part  of  the  Calvinistic  analogy  of  faith.' 

'The    whole    body  of  Genevan  pastors,  fifteen   in 


326  MARION   GRAHAM; 

number,  with  Calvin  heading  the  list,  charge  upon 
Servetus  as  one  of  his  errors,  — the  errors  which  cost 
him  his  life, —  that  he  asserts  '  that  he  dare  condemn 
none  of  the  infant  offspring  of  Ninevites  or  barbarians 
to  hell,  because  in  his  opinion  a  merciful  Lord,  who 
hath  freely  taken  away  the  sins  of  the  godless,  would 
never  so  severely  condemn  those  by  whom  no  godless 
act  has  been  committed,  and  who  are  most  innocent 
images  of  God.' 

Calvin,  writing  to  Castalio,  a  former  friend,  says,  — 

'  You  deny  that  it  is  lawful  for  God,  except  for 
misdeed,  to  condemn  any  human  being;  nevertheless 
numberless  infants  are  removed  from  life.  Put  forth 
now  your  virulence  against  God,  who  precipitates  into 
eternal  death  harmless  new-born  children  torn-  from 
their  mother's  breast.  You  will  not  concede  that  He 
devotes  to  eternal  death  any  except  those  who,  for 
perpetrated  evil  deeds,  would  be  exposed  to  penalty 
under  earthly  judges.  .  .  .  You  do  not  hesitate  to 
overturn  the  whole  order  of  divine  justice.' 

And  further,  Calvin  coolly  argues,  — 

'  Of  those  who  have  rested  on  the  breasts  of  the 
same  Christian  mother,  some  are  borne  to  heaven, 
others  thrust  down  to  hell,  by  virtue  of  that  decree 
by  which  God  hath  decreed,  not  by  permitting  only, 
but  also  by  willing,  that  Adam  should  necessarily  fall 
and  that  so  many  nations,  with  their  infant  children, 
should,  through  that  fall,  be  brought  to  eternal  death 
without  remedy.  .  .  .  There  are  those  born  among 
men  devoted  from  the  womb  to  certain  death,  who  by 
their  destruction  glorify  God's  name.' 

Early  in  the  sixteenth  century,  at  the  Synod  of 
Doit,  the  Swiss  tlieoloq-ians  affirmed  'that  there  is  an 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  327 

election  and  reprobation  of  infants  no  less  than  of  adults 
we  cannot  deny  in  the  face  of  God,  who  loves  and 
hates  unborn  children.' 

At  this  Synod,  writes  Dr.  Krauth,  —  'Infant  repro- 
bation and  the  actual  damnation  of  infants  were  as- 
serted in  manifold  shapes,  and  in  all  the  public  discus- 
sions of  that  body  no  Calvinist  of  any  land  uttered  a 
word  of  doubt  or  of  mitigation.  There  were  points 
on  which  differences  were  expressed ;  there  were  feel- 
ings aroused  which  threatened  the  very  continuance 
of  the  Synod,  but  there  was  a  happy  harmony  in 
regard  to  infant  reprobation! ' 

These  are  a  few  specimens  of  Christian  belief.  But 
worse,  in  some  respects,  than  any  of  these  dreadful 
passages, is  a  poem  I  came  across  in  an  antique  book 
store  in  London,  entitled  The  Day  of  Doom,  by  Rev. 
Michael  Wigglesworth,  an  old  Puritan  pastor.  It 
was  published  in  1662,  and  attained  great  popularity. 
A  New  England  journal  speaks  of  it  as  'a  work  which 
was  taught  our  fathers  with  their  catechism ;  that 
was  hawked  about  the  country,  printed  on  sheets  like 
common  ballads;  and  in  fine,  a  work  which  fairly 
represents  the  prevailing  theology  at  the  time  it  was 
written,  and  which  Mather  thought  might,  perhaps, 
find  our  children  till  the  Day  itself  arrives.' 

I  will  confine  my  quotations  mainly  to  that  part 
which  arraigns  infants  at  the  Bar  of  Christ. 

Then  to  the  Bar  all  they  drew  near 

who  died  in  infancy, 
And  never  had  or  good  or  bad 

effected  pers'nally; 
But  from  the  womb  unto  the  tomb 

were  straightway  carrieM, 
(Or  at  the  least  ere  they  transgress'd,) 

who  thus  began  to  plead : 


328  MAltlON   GRAHAM; 

If  for  our  own  transgressi-on, 

or  disobedience, 
We  here  did  stand  at  thy  left  hand, 

just  were  the  Recompense ; 
But  Adam's  guilt  our  souls  hath  spilt; 

his  fault  is  charged  upon  us  ; 
And  that  alone  hath  overthrown 

and  utterly  undone  us. 

Not  we,  but  he  ate  of  the  Tree, 

whose  fruit  was  interdicted; 
Yet  on  us  all  of  his  sad  Fall 

the  punishment's  inflicted. 
How  could  we  sin  that  had  not  been, 

or  how  is  his  sin  our, 
Without  consent  which  to  prevent 

we  never  had  the  pow'r  ? 

O  great  Creator,  why  was  our  Nature 

depraved  and  forlorn  ? 
Why  so  defil'd,  and  made  so  vil'd 

whilst  we  were  yet  unborn  ? 
If  it  be  just,  and  needs  we  must 

transgressors  reckon' d  be, 
Thy  mercy,  Lord,  to  us  afford, 

which  sinners  hath  set  free. 

Behold  we  see  Adam  set  free, 

and  saved  from  his  trespass, 
Whose  sinful  Fall  hath  split  us  all, 

and  brought  us  to  this  pass. 
Canst  thou  deny  us  once  to  try, 

or  Grace  to  us  to  tender, 
When  lie  finds  grace  before  thy  face, 

who  was  the  chief  offender  ? 

Then  answered  the  Judge  most  dread ; 

God  doth  such  doom  forbid, 
That  men  should  die  eternally 

for  what  they  never  did. 
But  what  you  call  old  Adam's  Fall, 

and  only  his  trespass, 
You  call  amiss  to  call  it  his. 

both  his  and  yours  it  was. 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  329 

He  was  design'd  of  all  Mankind 

to  be  a  public  head; 
A  common  Root,  whence  all  should  shoot, 

and  stood  in  all  their  stead. 
He  stood  and  fell,  did  ill  or  well, 

not  for  himself  alone, 
But  for  you  all,  who  now  his  Fall 

and  trespass  would  disown. 

Would  you  have  griev'd  to  have  receiv'd 

through  Adam  so  much  good 
As  had  been  your  forever  more 

if  he  at  first  had  stood  ? 
Would  you  have  said,  —  We  ne'er  obey'd 

nor  did  thy  laws  regard ; 
It  ill  befits  with  benefits, 

us,  Lord,  to  so  reward  ? 

Since  then  to  share  in  his  welfare, 

you  could  have  been  content, 
You  may  with  reason  share  in  his  treason, 

and  in  the  punishment. 
Hence  you  were  born  in  state  forlorn, 

with  Nature  so  depraved; 
Death  was  your  due  because  that  you 

had  thus  yourselves  behaved. 

I  may  deny  you  once  to  try 

or  Grace  to  you  to  tender, 
Though  he  finds  Grace  before  my  face 

who  was  the  chief  offender; 
Else  should  my  Grace  cease  to  be  Grace, 

for  it  would  not  be  free, 
If  to  release  whom  I  should  please 

I  have  no  liberty. 

If  upon  one  what's  due  to  none 

I  frankly  shall  bestow, 
And  on  the  rest  shall  not  think  best 

compassion's  skirt  to  throw, 
Whom  injure  I  ?  will  you  envy 

and  grudge  at  others'  weal  ? 
Or  me  accuse,  who  do  refuse 

yourselves  to  help  and  heal  ? 


330  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

Am  I  alone  of  what's  my  own 

no  Master  or  no  Lord  ? 
And   if  I  am  how  can  you  claim 

what  I  to  some  afford  ? 
Will  you  demand  Grace  at  my  hand, 

and  challenge  what  is  mine  ? 
Will  you  teach  me  whom  to  set  free, 

and  thus  my  Grace  confine  ? 

You  sinners  are,  and  such  a  share 

as  sinners  may  expect; 
Such  you  shall  have,  for  I  do  save 

none  but  mine  own  elect. 
Yet  to  compare  your  sin  with  their 

who  liv'd  a  longer  time, 
I  do  confess  yours  is  much  less, 

though  every  sin's  a  crime. 

A  crime  it  is,  therefore  in  bliss 

you  may  not  hope  to  dwell; 
But  unto  you  I  shall  allow 

the  easiest  room  in  Hell. 
The  glorious  King  thus  answering, 

they  cease  and  plead  no  longer ; 
Their  Consciences  must  needs  confess 

his  Reasons  are  the  stronger. 

Thus  all  men's  pleas  the  Judge  with  ease 

doth  answer  and  confute, 
Until  that  all,  both  great  and  small, 

are  silenced  and  mute. 
Vain  hopes  are  cropt,  all  mouths  are  stopt, 

sinners  have  naught  to  say, 
But  that  'tis  just  and  equal  most 

they  should  be  damn'd  for  aye. 

O  dismal  day  !  whither  shall  they 

for  help  and  succor  flee  ? 
To  God  above  with  hopes  to  move 

their  greatest  Enemy  ? 
His  wrath  is  great  whose  burning  heat 

no  floods  of  tears  can  slake; 
His  Word  stands  fast  that  they  be  cast 

into  the  burning  Lake. 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  331 

One  natural  Brother  beholds  another 

in  bis  astonied  fit. 
Yet  sorrows  not  thereat  a  jot, 

nor  pities  him  a  whit. 
The  godly  wife  conceives  no  grief, 

nor  can  she  shed  a  tear 
For  the  sad  state  of  her  dear  Mate, 

when  she  his  doom  doth  hear. 

Oh,  fearful  Doom  !  now  there's  no  room 

for  hope  or  help  at  all ; 
Sentence  is  past  which  aye  shall  last; 

Christ  will  not  it  recall. 
Then  might  you  hear  them  rend  and  tear 

the  Air  with  their  out-cries; 
The  hideous  noise  of  their  sad  voice 

asceudeth  to  the  skies. 

They  wring  their  hands,  their  caitiff-hands, 

and  gnash  their  teeth  for  terror; 
They  cry,  they  roar  for  anguish  sore, 

and  gnaw  their  tongues  for  horror. 
But  get  away  without  delay, 

Christ  pities  not  your  cry ; 
Depart  to  Hell,  there  may  you  yell 

and  roar  Eternally." 

Such,  Miss  Graham,  is  the  picture  of  God  drawn 
by  Christian  pens,  —  an  arbitrary,  sharp,  cruel,  relent- 
less Being!  For  such  a  God,  I  repeat, — and  do  not 
charge  me  with  blasphemy,  for  I  say  it  with  the  bit- 
terest pain,  —  I  have  neither  love  nor  reverence. 

Of  these  eminent  divines  who  seem  to  glory  in  and 
gloat  over  their  horrible  descriptions,  I  ought  in  jus- 
tice to  admit  that  they  are  represented  as  men  of 
exemplary  life  and  often  of  tender  spirit.  And  of 
Michael  Wigglesworth  it  is  said  that  *  Obedience  to 
the  supreme  law  gave  a  heavenly  lustre  to  his  example 
and  a  sweet  fragrance  to  his  memory,'  while  Rev.  Dr. 
Peabody  calls  him  ka  man  of  the  beatitudes.'  To 


332  MARION   GRAHAM; 

me  the  greater  the  saintliness  of  such  men,  the  more 
abhorrent  the  doctrines  which  can  put  such  beliefs 
into  their  heart,  such  words  into  their  mouth,  — 
which  can  so  utterly  dehumanize  them. 

But  enough.  You  can  see  how  hopeless  is  my  con- 
dition ;  how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  find  that  rest 
to  which  you  so  eloquently  invite  me.  To  the  heaven 
of  the  saints  I  feel  no  attraction  ;  and  if,  in  the  wild- 
ness  of  delirium,  I  once  dreamed  of  a  heaven  on  earth, 
the  dream  was  brief  as  sweet.  A  bright  vision  of 
bliss  shone  upon  me  for  one  blessed  moment,  and  then 
faded  into  the  blackness  of  darkness.  But  I  make 
no  complaints.  If  the  sirocco's  breath  has  swept  over 
me  and  consumed  my  spirit  to  ashes,  outwardly,  at 
least,  I  am  unscathed. 

Pardon  me  if  I  have  transgressed.  I  have  no  plea 
to  urge.  But  I  wished  you  to  know  thatx  if  the  rev- 
erent and  undying  homage  of  the  heart  for  what  is 
beautiful  and  good  establishes  any  claim  to  religion, 
I  surely  am  far  from  being  an  irreligious  man.  And, 
without  return,  without  hope,  this  homage  will  con- 
tinue till  my  heart  has  ceased  its  beatings.' 

MAURICE  VINTON." 

Is  it  strange  that  a  torrent  of  feelings  swept  over 
Marion  as  she  perused  this  letter,  —  that  blinding 
tears  obscured  many  of  its  words?  How,  alas,  could 
she  answer  such  a  letter?  What  could  she  say,  what 
could  any  one  say  in  reply  to  those  dreadful  charges  ? 
Was  it  strange  that  Maurice  should  be  repelled  ?  Could 
she  herself  love  a  God  thus  depicted  ?  In  the  very  bit- 
terness of  sorrow  she  wept  until  she  dared  weep  no 
longer. 


OH,    HKiHEll    THAN    HAPPINESS.  333 


It  was  soon  evident  that  Bessie  Maynard  was  fad- 
ing away.  Yet  no  one  admitted  this,  and  the  uniform 
answer  to  the  many  inquiries  after  her  health  was,  — 
"  About  the  same."  Thus  do  we  all  deceive  ourselves. 
Death  darkens  our  threshold,  but  we  will  not  believe  ; 
he  casts  over  the  pale  face  that  shadow  which  cannot 
be  mistaken  ;  —  still  we  are  incredulous.  Not  till  our 
loved  ones  have  actually  entered  the  cold  stream, 
and  passed  out  of  our  sight,  are  we  aroused  from  our 
blindness  by  the  aching  sense  of  bereavement. 

But  a  day  at  length  came  when  all  suspense  was 
ended.  While  Marion  sat  beside  Bessie's  couch,  and, 
from  time  to  time,  moistened  those  parched  lips,  Mr. 
Maynard  was  alone,  wrestling  with  God  in  voiceless 
prayer.  Nor  did  he  rise  from  his  knees,  till  he  felt 
that  his  petitions  had  reached  the  heart  of  God. 

Awaking  from  a  short  slumber,  Bessie  called  for 
the  little  one,  and  kissing  it  fondly,  she  motioned 
Marion  to  take  it,  saying,  — 

"  Love  my  motherless  baby." 

Marion  could  only  reply  by  pressing  it  to  her  heart. 

The  angel  of  Death  kindly  lingered  for  the  last 
messages  to  absent  loved  ones  —  for  the  latest  accents 
of  affection.  The  gentle  sufferer's  breath  had  been 
growing  fainter  and  fainter,  when,  suddenly  pressing 
her  husband's  hand,  she  exclaimed,  — 

"Sweet  visions  !  my  father  !  my  darling !  They  are 
all  around  me.  Glory !  glory !  Blessed,  blessed 
Saviour !  " 

Brokenly  came  the  words,  but  a  world  of  consola- 
tion was  in  them. 


334  MARION   GRAHAM; 

The  morning  dawned  in  unclouded  brightness,  but 
Bessie  was  not  there. 

"  Our  voices  took  a  higher  range; 

Once  more  we  sang;   '  They  do  not  die 
Nor  lose  their  mortal  sympathy, 
Nor  change  to  us,  although  they  change. 

'Rapt  from  the  fickle  and  the  frail 
With  gathered  power,  yet  the  same, 
Pierces  the  keen  seraphic  flame 
From  orb  to  orb,  from  veil  to  veil.'  " 


01!,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  335 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

"I  am  content  to  toucli  the  brink 
Of  the  other  goblet,  and  I  think 
My  bitter  drink  a  wholesome  drink." 

THE  sorrowful  event  which  had  taken  place  neces- 
sarily modified  Mr.  Maynard's  plans.  He  decided  to 
take  Bessie's  lifeless  form  at  once  to  Glenwood,  and, 
leaving  the  little  one  at  her  grandmother's,  return  and 
make  arrangements  for  his  immediate  removal. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  bitter  wailing 
of  poor  Judy,  or  the  speechless  grief  of  the  widowed 
mother.  Bessie's  revered  old  pastor  performed  her 
funeral  rites.  And  with  many  tears  her  body  was  laid 
in  the  pleasant  cemetery. 

Before  Mr.  Maynard  left  for  Brentford,  he  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Maurice,  giving  him  a  full  account  of  his 
sister's  sickness  and  death,  and  repeating  her  dying 
messages.  Not  long  after,  Marion  sent  the  following 
reply  to  his  last  communication. 

"  That  one  so  formed  to  soar,  Mr.  Vinton,  should  be 
dragged  down  by  the  demon  of  infidelity,  and  to  the 
jeopardy  of  his  eternal  interests,  is  more  saddening  to 
me  than  words  can  express.  So  entirely  is  your  mind 
arrayed  against  the  doctrines  of  the  gospel,  that  I  have 
not  the  smallest  hope  of  your  prejudices  being  softened 
by  any  process  of  argument.  If,  exalting  our  own 


336  MARION  GRAHAM; 

reason,  we  question  God's  wisdom  and  goodness,  con- 
fusion, doubt,  and  misery,  must  be  the  result.  In  the 
wreck  of  man's  moral  nature, all  his  attributes  suffered  ; 
and  I  see  not  how  reason  can  be  regarded  as  a  safe 
guide.  Sin,  by  the  blindness  and  prejudice  it  occa- 
sions, and  the  passions  it  cherishes,  warps  our  judg- 
ments, and  thus  disqualifies  us  for  forming  correct 
moral  conclusions.  We  acknowledge  a  distinction  be- 
tween the  true  and  false,  between  good  and  evil.  But 
as  our  distorted  rational  faculties  prevent  us  from  abso- 
lute reliance  on  their  judgments  in  the  one  case,  even  so 
do  our  equally  distorted  moral  faculties  operate  in  the 
other.  Thus  we  are  unable  to  rely  securely,  either 
upon  the  decisions  of  reason,  or  the  dictates  of  con- 
science. 

In  this  state  of  miserable  darkness  and  degradation  ; 
finite,  hemmed  in  on  every  side,  and  crippled  in  our 
whole  being  ;  —  how  can  we  be  sure  of  obtaining  true 
knowledge,  except  by  sitting  at  the  feet  of  Him  who 
has  opened  to  us  the  two  vast  books  of  nature  and 
revelation  ?  Let  me  speak  frankly,  Mr.  Vinton,  out  of 
a  full  heart.  Never,  till  laying  aside  all  prejudice,  you 
humble  yourself  as  a  little  child,  and  go  to  your  Father 
for  light  and  guidance,  will  you  see  aught  but  darkness, 
or  your  feet  tread,  save  in  inextricable  mazes. 

To  one  who  looks  upon  the  vast  enginery  of  nature, 
taking  cognizance  only  of  the  seemingly  confused  and 
contradictory  motions  of  her  mighty  wheels,  there  may 
be  an  appearance  of  disorder.  But  on  a  more  pro- 
longed examination,  he  begins  to  see  the  wonderful 
unity  of  design  manifest  in  all  its  varied  complications, 
and  to  realize  that  infinite  wisdom  and  power  could 
alone  have  devised  and  set  in  motion  this  stupen- 
16 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  S37 

dous  system.  I  have  been  greatly  interested  in  reading 
Mitchell's  'Astronomical  Lectures,'  and  am  tempted  to 
quote  a  passage  in  point. 

'  There  are  no  iron  tracks  with  bars  and  bolts  to  hold 
the  planets  in  their  orbits.  Freely  in  space  they  move, 
ever  changing,  but  never  changed ;  poised  and  balanc- 
ing ;  swaying  and  swayed ;  disturbing  and  disturbed  ; 
onward  they  fly,  fulfilling  with  unerring  certainty  their 
mighty  cycles.  The  entire  system  forms  one  grand, 
complicated  piece  of  celestial  machinery ;  circle  within 
circle ;  wheel  within  wheel ;  cycle  within  cycle ;  revo- 
lutions so  swift  as  to  be  completed  in  a  few  hours ; 
movements  so  slow  that  their  mighty  periods  are  only 
counted  by  millions  of  years.  Are  we  to  believe  that 
the  Divine  Architect  constructed  this  admirably  ad- 
justed system  to  wear  out,  and  to  fall  in  ruins,  even 
before  one  single  revolution  of  its  complex  scheme  of 
wheels  has  been  performed  ?  No !  I  see  the  mighty  orbits 
of  the  planets  slowly  rocking  to  and  fro,  their  figures 
expanding  and  contracting,  and  their  axes  revolving  in 
their  vast  periods ;  but  stability  is  there.  Every  change 
shall  wear  away,  and  after  sweeping  through  the  grand 
cycle  of  cycles,  the  whole  system  shall  return  to  its 
primitive  condition  of  perfection  and  beauty.' 

Now,  if  such  a  grand  unity  of  design  and  law  of 
order  are  manifest  to  the  diligent  observer  in  the  nat- 
ural creation,  and  that  notwithstanding  the  disturbing 
force  of  sin; —  since  the  revelation  God  makes  of  him- 
self in  his  Word  must  necessarily  be  in  agreement  with 
that  made  in  nature,  may  we  not  properly  reason  from 
the  world  of  effects  to  the  world  of  causes  ?  And,  to 
the  reverent  inquirer  after  truth,  will  not  order  and 
harmony  be  more  and  more  distinctly  evolved  from 


338  MARION  GRAHAM; 

God's  vast  moral  system?  Not  at  once,  not  all  in  ih'.a 
world  indeed,  will  the  intricate  machinery  be  clearly 
unfolded  to  our  view.  But  the  light  shed  upon  the 
attributes  of  the  Supreme,  as  upon  his  works  and  his 
providence,  shall  grow  clearer  and  clearer  till  we  enter 
that  world  where  the  Lord  God  is  the  light  thereof. 
In  the  mean  time,  if  we  do  God's  will,  we  are  assured 
that  we  shall  know  his  doctrine.  We  may  not  —  we 
cannot  comprehend  all  his  dealings.  The  entrance  of 
sin  must  always  be  a  spot  of  intense  darkness  and 
mystery,  yet  God's  light  may  flow  in  refluent  waves 
all  round  about  it.  And  we  may  see  that  through 
this  bitter  experience  of  evil,  through  this  life-long 
struggle,  through  these  repeated  draughts  from  the 
chalice  of  sorrow,  God  may  at  last  raise  up  man, 
proved  by  discipline  and  confirmed  in  good,  to  a  state 
of  holiness  and  felicity,  almost  infinitely  transcending 
that  of  his  primal  innocence.  And  when  this  celestial 
temple  is  completed,  and  the  headstone  thereof  is 
brought  forth  with  shoutings,  the  hosts  of  redeemed 
ones  shall  cry,  '  Grace,  grace  unto  it.' 

I  admit  that  the  doctrine  of  future  punishment 
must  ever  remain  a  terrible  doctrine  to  be  contemplated. 
And  yet, — 

'  There  is  no  power  can  exorcise 
From  out  the  unbounded  spirit,  the  quick  sense 
Of  its  own  sins,  wrongs,  sufferance  and  revenge 
Upon  itself;  there  is  no  future  pang 
Can  deal  that  justice  on  the  self-condemned 
He  deals  on  his  own  soul.' 

And  when  we  consider  that,  to  the  persistent  rejector 
of  God's  grace,  heaven  would  be  the  most  intolerable 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  339 

hell,  where  he  would  be  eternally  consumed  by  the 
brightness  of  God's  presence  ;  —  and  that  he  goes  '  to 
his  own  place '  by  the  necessary  law  of  his  being,  we 
surely  can  find  nothing  in  his  exclusion  from  heaven, 
upon  which  to  base  a  charge  of  cruelty  or  injustice 
against  God. 

I  have  been  putting  off  any  allusion  to  your  fearful 
quotations  because  I  am  appalled  and  know  not  what 
to  say.  I  admit  frankly  that  the  reading  of  them 
caused  a  depression  of  spirits  from  which  I  have  found 
it  hard  to  rally.  Such  doctrines,  it  seems  to  me,  can 
only  have  come  from  the  grossest  misconceptions  of 
the  Divine  Being. 

You  say  some  of  the  writers  are  described  as  men 
of  sweet  Christian  spirit.  It  is  a  comfort  to  know 
that  their  faith  was  better  than  their  creed,  their  life 
than  their  dogmas.  In  illustration  of  this  and  as  the 
best  possible  reply  to  those  harrowing  views,  I  enclose 
a  poem  full  of  consolation.  It  is  by  John  G.  Whittier, 
our  beloved  Quaker  poet. 


THE  MINISTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

In  the  minister's  morning  sermon 
He  had  told  of  the  primal  fall, 

And  how  henceforth  the  wrath  of  God 
Rested  on  each  and  all, 


And  how,  of  His  will  and  pleasure, 
All  souls,  save  a  chosen  few, 

Were  doomed  to  the  quenchless  burning, 
And  held  in  the  way  thereto. 


•HO  MAEION   GRAHAM; 

Yet  never  by  faith's  unreason 
A  saintlier  soul  was  tried, 

And  never  the  harsh  old  lesson 
A  tenderer  heart  belied. 


And  after  the  painful  service 
On  that  pleasant  Sabbath  day, 

He  walked  with  his  little  daughter 
Through  the  apple  bloom  of  May. 

Sweet  in  the  fresh  green  meadows 
Sparrow  and  blackbird  sung; 

Above  him  their  tinted  petals 
The  blossoming  orchards  hung. 

Around  on  the  wonderful  glory 

The  minister  looked  and  smiled; 
"  How  good  is  the  Lord  who  gives  us 
These  gifts  from  His  hand,  my  child! 

' '  Behold  in  the  bloom  of  apples 
And  the  violets  on  the  sward 

A  hint  of  the  old  lost  beauty 
Of  the  Garden  of  the  Lord  ! " 


Then  up  spake  the  little  maiden, 
Treading  on  snow  and  pink: 

"  O  Father !  these   pretty  blossoms 
Are  very  wicked,  I  think. 

"  Had  there  been  no  Garden  of  Eden 
There  never  had  been  a  fall ; 

And  if  never  a  tree  had  blossomed 
God  would  have  loved  us  all." 


"  Hush,  child! "  the  father  answered, 

"  By  His  decree  man  fell ; 
His  ways  are  in  clouds  and  darkness, 

But  He  doeth  all  things  well. 


OK,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  341 

"  And  whether  by  His  ordaining 

To  us  cometh  good  or  ill, 
Joy  or  pain,  or  light  or  shadow, 

We  must  fear  and  love  Him  still." 


"  Oh,  1  fear  Him!"  said  the  daughter, 
"  And  I  try  to  love  Him,  too; 

But  I  wish  He  was  good  and  gentle, 
Kind  and  loving  as  you." 

The  minister  groaned  in  spirit 
As  the  tremulous  lips  of  pain, 

And  wide,  wet  eyes  uplifted 
Questioned  his  own  in  vain. 

Bowing  his  head  he  pondered 
The  words  of  the  little  one; 

Had  he  erred  in  his  life-long  teaching  ? 
Had  he  wrong  to  his  Master  done  ? 

To  what  grim  and  dreadful  idol 
Had  he  lent  the  holiest  name  ? 

Did  his  own  heart,  loving  and  human, 
The  God  of  his  worship  shame  ? 

And  lo !  from  the  bloom  and  greenness, 
From  the  tender  skies  above, 

And  the  face  of  his  little  daughter, 
He  read  a  lesson  of  love. 

No  more  as  the  cloudy  terror 

Of  Sinai's  Mount  of  law 
But  as  Christ  in  the  Syrian  lilies 

The  vision  of  God  he  saw. 

And,  as  when,  in  the  clefts  of  Horeb, 
Of  old  was  His  presence  known, 

The  dread  Ineffable  Glory 
Was  Infinite  Goodness  alone. 


342  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

Thereafter  his  hearers  noted 

In  his  prayers  a  tenderer  strain, 
And  never  the  gospel  of  hatred 

Burned  on  his  lips  again. 

And  the  scoffing  tongue  was  prayerful, 

And  the  blinded  eyes  found  sight, 
And  hearts,  as  flint  aforetime, 

Grew  soft  in  his  warmth  and  light. 

In  the  mediaeval  days,  the  light  of  the  church  was 
obscured,  because  the  Divine  Word  was  locked  up 
from  the  people.  In  later  days  it  has  also  been 
greatly  darkened  by  the  traditions  of  the  elders,  by 
theological  formulas.  And  thus  has  been  travestied 
that  grandest  of  all  sciences,  the  knowledge  of  God. 
I  admit  it  all,  and  how  deeply  I  deplore  it  words  can- 
not tell.  But  I  beg,  Mr.  Vinton,  that  you  will  not 
allow  these  murky  clouds  to  eclipse  the  great  central 
truth  of  the  Gospel  —  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  If  you 
would  only  believe  in  Him,  how  soon  would  you 
know  Him  as  the  Name  above  every  name  ! 

He  is  the  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life.  '  We  must  go 
by  the  eternally  ordained  path  of  love  to  Him  who  is 
the  revelation  of  eternal  Love  —  a  Person,  —  and 
suffer  his  love  to  charm  us  into  a  kindred  love ;  we 
must  lay  our  hearts  close  beside  his,  that  they  may 
learn  to  beat  with  the  same  motion;  our  wills  near 
his,  that  they  may  fall  into  its  harmony.' 

Of  De  Wette,  that  keen  rationalistic  critic,  it  is 
stated  that  as  death  approached,  he  said,  — '  Although 
the  manner  and  the  means  of  the  resurrection  of 
Christ  are  involved  in  impenetrable  mystery,  the  fact 
itself  can  no  more  be  questioned  than  the  murder  of 
C^sar ! ' 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  343 

And  Professor  Hupfeld,  the  eminent  Semitic 
scholar,  writes,  —  *  I  stand  still  before  Christ  as  before- 
a  riddle,  in  the  presence  of  which  all  my  philosophical 
and  historical  criticism  is  silent.  I  know  not  what 
to  call  that  being  to  which  in  the  entire  history  of 
humanity  I  find  no  analogy.  But  I  find  that  the 
whole  history  of  humanity  before  Him  and  after  Him 
points  to  Him,  and  in  Him  finds  its  centre  and  its 
solution.  His  whole  conduct,  His  deeds,  His  addresses, 
have  a  supernatural  character,  being  altogether  inex- 
plicable from  human  relations  and  human  means.  I 
feel  that  here  there  is  something  more  than  man,  that 
He  must  be  a  divine  ambassador.' 

You  will  pardon  my  introducing  two  more  quota- 
tions, one  from  Spinoza,  and  one  from  John  Huss. 
The  former  writes,  — 

*  When  experience  had  taught  me  that  what  is 
generally  talked  of  among  men  was  vain  and  empty ; 
when  I  saw  that  all  which  I  used  to  fear  or  love,  was 
neither  good  nor  bad  in  itself,  but  only  so  far  as  the 
mind  is  affected  by  it ;  I  concluded  at  last  to  search, 
whether  there  was  any  true  good  winch  would  com- 
municate itself,  and  by  which,  if  I  should  renounce 
every  thing  else,  my  mind  might  be  influenced ; 
whether  there  was  any  thing  by  which,  if  I  should  find 
it  and  possess  myself  of  it,  I  might  attain  to  an 
eternal  and  supreme  happiness.  I  say  I  concluded 
at  last;  for  at  first  it  seemed  unreasonable  to  lose  a 
certain  thing  for  an  uncertain  one.  For  I  perceived 
the  advantages  connected  with  honor  and  riches,  and 
that  I  should  have  to  renounce  them,  if  I  should  pur- 
sue a  different  object.  And  it  was  plain  to  me,  that 


344  MARION  GRAHAM; 

if  supreme  happiness  consisted  in  them,  I  should  lose 
that  happiness  in  pursuing  a  different  end;  but  if 
happiness  did  not  consist  in  them,  and  I  should  seek 
them  supremely,  I  should  lose  it  in  that  way.  I  then 
reasoned,  whether  it  was  not  possible  for  me  to  enter 
upon  my  new  work,  or  at  least  to  come  to  some  cer- 
tainty on  the  point,  without  leaving  my  old  course  of 
life.  But  that  I  tried  in  vain.  For  that  which  is 
generally  the  topic  of  men's  conversations,  and  that 
which,  judging  from  their  conduct,  they  esteem  most 
highly,  comes  at  last  to  these  three  things,  riches, 
honor,  pleasure.  But  these  things  so  distract  the 
mind,  that  it  can  think  seriously  of  no  other  good. 
When  I  therefore  saw  that  all  this  was  inconsistent 
with  my  new  project,  and  even  opposed  to  it,  so  that 
I  should  necessarily  have  to  relinquish  one  of  these 
two  things,  I  was  compelled  to  decide  which  I  should 
prefer.  It  was  not  without  reason  that  I  used  the 
words,  if  I  could  only  consider  it  seriously :  for  although 
I  saw  it  all  clearly  before  my  mind,  yet  could  I  never 
on  that  account  lay  aside  all  avarice,  ambition,  and 
love  of  pleasure.' 

In  striking  contrast,  John  Huss  says,  — 

'I  confess  before  God  and  his  anointed,  that  from 
my  youth  up  I  doubted  and  hesitated  long  as  to  what 
I  should  choose ;  whether  I  should  praise  what  all 
praised,  approve  what  all  approved,  and  excuse  what 
all  excused ;  whether  I  should  gloss  over  the  Scrip- 
tures as  others  glossed  them  over,  who  seemed  to  be 
clothed  with  sanctity  and  wisdom,  or  whether  I  ought 
manfully  to  accuse  and  condemn  the  unfruitful  works 
of  darkness ;  whether  I  should  do  better  to  enjoy  a 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  345 

comfortable  life  with  the  rest,  and  seek  for  honor  and 
preferments,  —  or  else  go  without  the  camp,  cleave 
to  the  pure  and  holy  truth  of  the  Gospel,  and  bear  the 
poverty  and  reproach  of  Christ.  I  confess  freely,  I 
doubted  and  hesitated  long.  At  length  I  turned  to 
God  in  sincere  and  fervent  supplication.  With  my 
Bible  raised  in  my  hands  towards  heaven,  I  cried  out 
with  my  whole  heart,  "O  God,  my  Lord,  and  Author 
of  my  life,  guide  me  into  thy  truth  !  " 

Is  not  this  subjective  evidence  the  very  highest  that 
can  come  to  the  human  soul?  Ah,  Mr.  Vinton,  how 
is  it  that  one  so  quick  to  apprehend  and  appreciate 
every  noble  sentiment  should  be  deaf  to  spiritual 
voices  and  blind  to  spiritual  realities?  Surely  the 
truth  must  one  day  dawn  upon  you. 

With  such  a  cry  for  help  coming  up  from  a  world 
of  ignorant,  wretched  beings,  I  cannot  believe  that 
you  will  not  respond  to  that  cry.  Earnestly  did  I 
pray  for  this  when  I  read  in  Hinton's  Mystery  of 
Pain  the  following  words; — 

4  If  we  might  take  human  sorrow  and  bear  it  on  our 
hearts,  and  give  our  lives  for  the  redemption  of  the 
world  ;  if  we  might  undertake  that  work,  the  smallest 
part  of  it,  and  live  and  die  for  it,  that  would  be  God's 
greatest  gift  to  us.'  " 

Then  telling  him  of  Elsie's  closing  days,  she  gave  her 
last  touching  message,  adding,  — 

"  Do  not  disappoint  her,  Mr.  Vinton.  She  will  look 
to  meet  you  in  the  golden  streets.  Heaven  has  rapidly 
increased  its  attractions  since  you  left.  Your  sweet 
little  namesake,  your  father,  your  sister,  and  good  old 
Elsie,  now  await  you  there.  Whatever  of  discipline 
and  sorrow  be  appointed  for  us,  God  grant  that  we  too 


346  MARION  GRAHAM; 

may  at  last  enter  those  gates  of  pearl,  and  dwell  for- 
ever in  that  celestial  city  which  the  glory  of  God  doth 
lighten. 

MARION  GRAHAM." 

The  delicate  allusion,  at  the  close  of  Maurice's  letter, 
to  his  deep  and  unalterable  devotion,  had  moved  Mar- 
ion, every  time  she  perused  it,  with  a  secret  tremor  of 
joy.  She  longed,  in  reply,  to  assure  him  that  her  heart 
likewise  was  unwavering  in  its  affection,  or  at  least  to 
intimate  this.  But  she  dared  not  unseal  the  closed 
fountain.  Besides,  she  felt  that  such  words  were  un- 
needed.  Had  she  only  uttered  them ! 


In  contrast  with  his  own  desolate  hearth-stone,  it 
was  a  cheerful  fireside  that  Mr.  Maynard  found  on  his 
return  to  Glenwood.  And  the  frequent  presence  of 
Marion  was  an  unspeakable  comfort  to  them  all.  But 
while  she  made  a  great  effort  to  cheer  others,  her  lonely 
room  bore  witness  to  many  a  secret  struggle  with  her- 
self. Worn  by  the  consuming  sickness  of  hope  deferred, 
she  found  it  difficult  to  become  interested  in  her  once 
favorite  employments.  Yet  there  were  seasons  when 
she  meekly  accepted  the  severe  discipline  of  life  ;  when 
peace  rested  in  her  bosom,  and  in  quiet  confidence  she 
could  utter  that  holy  sentiment,  so  hard  for  the  natural 
heart,  "  Thy  will,  O  God,  be  done." 

Not  long  after  her  return  from  Brentford,  she  received 
a  letter  from  Lenora,  dated  Cairo,  from  which  we  shall 
take  the  liberty  to  steal  a  few  extracts : 

"  On  our  way  from  Rome  to  Egypt  we  had  quite  a 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  347 

company  collected  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe, 
and  a  right  merry  set  we  were,  I  do  assure  you. 

There  was  one  of  our  number  to  whom  I  must 
devote  more  space,  though  I  have  not  the  temerity 
to  attempt  describing  him.  He  is  too  genuine  a  hero 
for  my  poor  pen.  So  give  wing  to  your  imagina- 
tion, and  picture  to  yourself  a  tall,  pale,  intellectual- 
looking  man,  with  the  most  melancholy  mouth,  and  the 
deepest,  most  wonderful  eyes  that  you  ever  saw.  Papa 
inquired  of  everybody  who  he  was,  but  nobody  could 
tell  positively,  though  all  presumed  him  to  be  an  Eng- 
lishman, while  I  privately  suggested  that  he  was  some 
lord  or  other,  travelling  in  disguise.  He  assumed  no 
airs,  and  scarcely  ever  made  a  remark,  but  all  the  time 
veiled  himself  in  the  most  impenetrable  reserve.  To  the 
ladies  of  our  company  he  demeaned  himself,  courteously 
indeed,  but  as  a  veritable  icicle.  My  curiosity  was 
strangely  piqued,  as  you  will  readily  believe ;  and  I 
resorted  to  several  femininities,  for  the  sake  of  discover- 
ing something  about  him,  but  invariably  got  my  trouble 
for  my  pains.  We  could  not  even  arrive  at  his  name, 
so  we  all  dubbed  him  '  The  Stranger,'  and  a  stranger  he 

seems  likely  to  remain You  will  not  of  course 

expect  from  me  the  presumption  of  striving  to  paint  for 
you  the  grand  pyramid  of  Geezeh.  Not  my  rash  hand 
shall  make  such  a  bold  attempt.  But  I  will  tell  you  that 
1  was  carried  up  those  terrific  heights  by  wild  Arabs,  sav- 
age-looking enough  to  have  strangled  us.  They  climbed 
and  climbed,  and  climbed,  but  for  all  that  did  not  seem 
to  get  any  nearer  the  top.  On  our  upward  way,  I  was 
careless  enough  to  drop  a  charming  bouquet  which  I 
held  in  my  hand,  and  which  provokingly  rolled  down 
Geezeh's  steep  side.  Of  course,  I  supposed  that  was 


348  MARION  GRAHAM: 

the  last  of  it,  and  was  perfectly  overcome  with  amaze- 
ment, when  our  famous  incog.,  not  without  some  risk, 
descended  a  few  steps,  secured  my  bouquet,  and  returned 
it  to  me  as  I  sat  perched  on  the  hands  of  those  savages. 
He  did  this  with  as  courtly  a  grace  as  if  he  had  been 
bred  at  St.  James.  I  thanked  him  with  all  the  complai- 
sance of  which  I  am  mistress,  and  would  have  shared 
my  flowers  with  his  lordship,  had  I  dared  offer  them. 
But  my  warm  acknowledgments  made  no  impression 
whatever  on  his  imperturbable  nature,  and  falling  by 
himself,  he  proceeded  upward. 

The  view  from  the  summit  of  the  pyramid  you  can 
never  conceive  of,  till  you  yourself  have  beheld  it.  In 
the  height  of  my  enthusiasm,  I  suddenly  exclaimed  to 
papa,  '  Oh,  how  I  do  wish  Marion  Graham  was  here ! ' 
Such  a  look  as  that  our  stranger  gave  me.  It  startled 
me  like  a  thunderbolt  out  of  a  clear  sky.  It  was  so 
searching  a  gaze,  that  I  was  sure  he  had  asked  a  question, 
and  abruptly  exclaimed,  — 

'  What  did  you  say,  sir  ?  ' 

A  strange  smile  passed  over  that  mournful  face,  and 
he  replied,  '  I  said  nothing.' 

'  But  you  looked  something,'  I  added,  in  self-defence. 

Still  that  indescribably  sweet  smile,  which,  on  that 
face,  looked  like  a  rainbow  on  a  dark  cloud.  '  I  have 
no  doubt  of  that,  Miss  Benson.  To  hear  the  name  of 
one  we  have  met  in  former  years,  suddenly  pronounced 
in  an  assembly  of  strangers,  and  by  strange  lips,  and 
that  on.  the  summit  of  Geezeh,  was  a  little  unexpected. 
I  trust  therefore  you  will  absolve  me  from  impertinence.' 

So  much  —  not  one  word  more,  from  our  English 
nobleman.  My  curiosity  was  on  tip-toe,  but  all  in  vain. 
He  had  assumed  his  quiet  reserve,  and  stood,  with  the 

16* 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  349 

air  of  a  duke,  gazing  upon  the  broad  panorama  beneath. 
I  was  determined,  however,  not  to  be  entirely  balked, 
so  approaching  him,  I  ventured, — 

'  I  fear  I  shall  draw  upon  myself  the  charge  of  imper- 
tinence, but  it  is  a  mystery  to  me  how  you,  an  English- 
man, should  be  familiar  with  the  name  of  my  dear  friend 
in  America.' 

'  I  am  an  American  myself.' 

'  May  I  take  the  liberty  to  ask  where,  in  that  great 
country,  is  your  home  ? ' 

4  In  Leyden,  on  Lake  Champlain.' 

With  this  pittance  of  information,  I  was  obliged  to 
content  myself;  for  though  entirely  courteous,  he  was 
any  thing  but  communicative.  There  was  one  more 
tack  however  on  which  I  could  try  him  ;  so,  with  great 
skill,  as  I  imagined,  I  alluded  to  my  acquaintance  with 
you.  He  listened  with  evident  interest  to  all  that  I 
chose  to  say  ;  but  I  could  draw  neither  question  nor 
comment  out  of  him,  and  that  was  all  the  good  I  got 
by  my  amiability.  Very  provoking,  is  it  not  ?  I  won- 
der if  by  strange  good  fortune,  you  came  any  nearer  to 
him  ?  He  is  manifestly  one  of  the  invulnerables ;  but 
if  he  pleased,  and  I  think  wherever  he  pleased,  he  would 
l>e  irresistible.  To  be  loved  and  wooed  by  so  lordly  a 
being,  possessing  such  a  lofty  soul  as  is  written  on 
every  line  of  his  countenance,  might  well  excite  a  tu- 
mult in  the  proudest  woman's  bosom.  But  I  fear  he 
has  cruelly  devoted  himself  to  bachelorship.  Do  tell 
me  where  you  met  him,  and  how  much  you  know  of 
him ;  only  don't  fancy  me  smitten.  For  I  should  just  as 
soon  think  of  falling  in  love  with  the  divine  Apollo.  I 
flatter  myself  with  fancying  that,  since  the  scene  on  the 
pyramid,  he  treats  me  with  a  shade  more  of  complai- 


350  MARION  GRAHAM; 

sance ;  but  I  have  precious  little  to  boast  of.  If  I  have 
not  given  you  his  name,  it  is  of  course,  simply  because 
I  do  not  know  it.  But  you  must  know,  for  there  can 
be  only  one  such  impersonation  of  attractions,  or  of 
powers  of  attraction,  as  I  should  say ;  —  for  he  is  guiltless 
of  their  use.  So  don't  forget  to  enlighten  me." 

What  an  uncontrollable  tempest  did  this  letter  occa- 
sion in  Marion's  heart!  As  months  had  rolled  away, 
and  what  seemed  an  interminable  distance  stretched 
between  them,  she  had  thought  of  Maurice  as  changed. 
Sometimes  the  past,  in  its  connection  with  him,  seemed 
like  a  wild  dream  of  romance.  But  Lenora's  descrip- 
tion had  brought  him  vividly  before  her,  with  all  his  pecul- 
iar fascinations,  and  his  wonderful  power  of  influence. 
From  the  little  she  had  been  able  to  impart,  Marion 
gathered  afresh  the  sweet  confirmation  of  his  steadfast 
affection.  She  dwelt  with  renewed  satisfaction  upon 
the  closing  part  of  his  last  communication ;  and  for  a 
time,  gave  herself  up  to  the  delight  of  knowing  that  she 
was  beloved  by  this  peerless  being.  But  how  shall  she 
reply  to  Lenora  ?  She  cannot  pass  the  great  theme  of 
her  letter  in  silence  ;  —  yet  what  shall  she  say  ?  And 
how  can  she  be  sure  that  Lenora  would  not  repeat  any 
thing  she  might  write,  without  a  special  injunction  of 
secrecy?  And  if  she  makes  such  an  injunction,  she 
leaves  a  wide  margin  for  conjecture.  There  seems  no 
discreet  course  but  to  defer  her  answer.  So,  hoping 
Lenora  would  write  again,  she  concluded  on  delay. 
Alas,  —  could  she  only  have  foreseen  ! 

The  days  pass  slowly  away,  and  she  is  again  indulg- 
ing in  reverie.  Between  the  divided  claims  of  love  and 
duty,  her  heart  sometimes  wavers  ;  and  there  are  bitter 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  351 

moments  when  she  upbraids  the  latter  as  a  relent- 
less foe,  pursuing  her  to  the  death.  Why  had  she  not 
allowed  herself  to  write  one  word  of  tenderness  in  reply 
to  Maurice's  intimations  of  enduring  homage  ?  If  she 
could  only  dare  to  love  him,  to  recall  him  to  her  side, — 
what  a  flood  of  illimitable  bliss  would  roll  over  her 
soul!  Pity  for  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  when 
the  conflict  to  be  waged  is  between  a  sensitive  con- 
science and  a  loving  heart ! 

It  was  now  time  for  another  letter  from  Maurice.  Day 
after  day  she  awaited  the  expected  treasure,  and  day 
after  day  she  was  chilled  by  its  non-appearance.  She 
made  an  effort  to  rally  her  spirits,  but  a  heavy  weight 
settled  upon  them.  While  in  this  unhappy  state  she 
received  an  urgent  application  to  go  for  a  single  quarter 
to  Monteith,  where  they  were  disappointed  in  an  ex- 
pected teacher.  She  was  conscious  of  needing  just  such 
employment  to  break  in  upon  her  sad  dreamings ;  but 
it  seemed  to  her  she  could  not  bring  her  mind  to  it. 
After  balancing  the  matter  for  some  time,  she  wrote  to 
Mr.  Sunderland,  begging  his  advice.  She  well  knew 
how  entirely  his  own  conduct  was  actuated  by  the  high- 
est principle,  and  that  she  needed  just  the  influence  he 
always  brought  to  bear  upon  her.  From  her  letter,  he 
saw  that  she  was  becoming  morbid,  and  needed  rousing 
to  action.  And,  in  his  wonted  kind,  but  authoritative 
way,  he  replied : 

"  I  fear  my  sister  has  been  self-indulgent,  and  that 
the  enemy  has  obtained  some  advantage.  It  seems 
clear  to  me  that  under  these  circumstances,  you  ought 
to  accept  the  proposed  situation ;  and  therefore  I  ven- 
ture to  say  you  will  do  so. 


352  MARION   GRAHAM: 

In  this  great  life-conflict  in  which  you  and  I  are  en- 
gaged, there  is  no  safety  in  laying  aside  our  armor. 
Fight  we  must.  Let  us  do  it,  prepared  for  the  strongest 
onset  of  our  foe.  We  both  have  bitter  memories  that 
must  be  kept  buried,  or  they  will  rob  us  of  our  strength. 
These  ubiquitous  phantoms  plead  hard  to  abide  with 
us,  but  their  presence  is  a  dangerous  snare.  Without 
one  backward,  lingering  glance,  onward  and  upward 
must  be  our  watchword. 

'  Let  the  brave  toil  of  the  present, 
Overarch  the  crumbled  past.' 

Looking  to  our  Lord  for  strength,  let  us  press  towards 
the  mark.  So  shall  we  obtain  the  victory,  and  on  the 
heights  of  heaven,  shall  wear  the  conqueror's  crown. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  sister !  Be  true  to  your  con- 
science ;  be  courageous ;  —  and,  though  you  may  not 
thus  win  earthly  happiness,  you  will  gain  what  is  worth 
infinitely  more. 

Your  brother, 

HENRY  SUNDERLAND." 


Marion  knew  nothing  of  the  continued  struggles  of  that 
noble  heart,  and  presumed  that  he  spoke  in  the  plural, 
from  a  delicate  regard  to  her  feelings.  As  their  inter- 
course had  been  so  free,  she  had  sometimes  wondered 
that  he  had  not  proposed  a  correspondence ;  little  sus- 
pecting that  he  dared  not  trust  himself  with  so  sweet  an 
indulgence.  But  his  words  of  counsel  never  failed  to 
fall  upon  her  heart  like  the  notes  of  a  clarion.  She  was 
not  only  aroused  by  his  letter,  but  she  felt  strengthened 
for  her  work.  That  very  day  she  wrote  to  Monteith  a 


OR,    HICIIKi:    THAN"    HAPPINESS.  353 

letter  of  acceptance,  and,  greatly  to  the  regret  of  the 
family  at  the  Vinton  farm-house,  she  soon  left  Glen- 
wood  for  her  new  post. 

The  weeks  sped  on,  and  Marion  had  completed  her 
engagement.  She  had  striven  bravely,  but  suspense 
was  wearing  heavily  upon  her.  The  letter  did  not 
come.  She  tried  to  make  herself  believe  she  had  done 
expecting  it.  But  the  feverish  flush  that  invariably 
came  over  her  when  the  mail  arrived,  belied  this.  Th<^ 
innocent  postman  was  at  length  transformed  in  her 
view  into  a  relentless  fate.  Oh !  it  is  sickening  to  be 
thus  tortured  !  The  purpose  may  be  resolute,  but  the 
heart !  —  the  poor,  loving,  aching  human  heart ! 

A  thousand  sad  fancies  thronged  like  evil  spirits 
around  Marion.  Maurice  was  sick  —  he  had  forgotten 
her  —  he  was  dead.  Agonized  by  these  alternations  of 
feeling,  it  was  a  relief  to  her  to  return  home.  Mr.  May- 
nard  called  immediately,  and  expressed  his  concern  at 
her  worn  appearance. 

"  I  am  very  well,  only  weary  with  my  long  confine- 
ment. After  a  little  recruiting,  I  shall  be  as  bright  as 
ever.  To-morrow  I  am  coming  down  to  have  a  romp 
with  my  pet." 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  he  told  her  that  they  had 
had  a  letter  from  Maurice,  written  on  the  eve  of  his 
leaving  Egypt  for  Palestine,  and  that  it  was  full  of  deep 
feeling  concerning  Bessie,  but  contained  not  a  word 
from  which  his  state  of  mind  could  be  inferred. 

"  May  I  ask,"  he  added,  "if  you  have  heard  any  thing 
more  definite  ?  " 

He  was  startled,  when,  drawing  herself  up,  she  re- 
plied,— 


354  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  Our  intercourse  has  ceased ;  and,  if  you  have  any 
regard  for  me,  you  will  never  name  him  in  my  presence." 

And  she  immediately  changed  the  subject.  After  he 
left,  she  regretted  her  hasty  words.  She  had  spoken 
proudly  and  not  without  resentment.  And  she  could 
fancy  Maurice's  melancholy  eyes  looking  reproachfully 
upon  her.  But  she  could  not  take  back  her  words  with- 
out entering  into  an  explanation,  and  that  she  was  un- 
willing to  do.  She  however  wrote  Mr.  Maynard  a  line, 
saying, — 

"  Do  not  misjudge  my  rash  language.  From  my 
heart  the  curtain  may  not  be  lifted.  This  is  all  I  can 
say." 

Mr.  Maynard  had  pondered  in  vain  the  incomprehen- 
sible words  Marion  had  spoken,  nor  was  he  at  all  en- 
lightened by  her  brief  note.  It  did  not  enter  his  mind 
as  a  possibility  that  Maurice  had  first  ceased  to  write  ; 
and,  of  course,  he  could  not  suppose  any  such  thing  in 
the  case  as  a  woman's  pique.  Besides,  he  knew  noth- 
ing of  what  had  actually  transpired  between  them. 
Having  long  ago  divined  Maurice's  love,  he  had  seen 
some  indications  from  which  he  inferred  that  it  was 
returned.  But  even  of  their  correspondence  he  had  not 
been  aware  till  her  visit  to  Brentford.  After  revolving 
the  matter  over  and  over,  he  concluded  that,  for  some 
reason  which  he  had  no  means  of  conjecturing,  Marion 
had  put  an  end  to  their  intercourse,  and  to  all  Maurice's 
hopes.  He  felt  that  it  must  have  been  a  terrible  blow 
to  him,  and  he  saw  that  she  too  suffered  from  unwonted 
depression.  So  he  brought  her  books  to  read,  tried  to 
interest  her  in  her  flower-garden,  and,  by  many  delicate 
attentions,  sought  to  return  some  of  the  kind  ministra- 
tions she  had  rendered  to  his  cherished  Bessie. 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN   HAPPINESS.  3oo 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

"  Forgive,  0  God ! 

The  blindness  of  our  passionate  desires, 
The  fainting  of  our  hearts,  the  lingering  thoughts, 
Which  cleave  to  dust!    Forgive  the  strife;  accept 
The  sacrifice,  though  dim  with  mortal  tears, 
From  mortal  pangs  wrung  forth!  " 

IT  was  the  soft  twilight  hour.  Marion  sat  near  an 
open  window,  where  the  fragrance  of  honeysuckles,  min- 
gled with  that  of  roses,  came  stealing  in.  Tennyson's 
"  In  Memoriam  "  lay  idly  in  her  hand,  as  she  glanced 
listlessly  from  the  window.  Suddenly  her  eye  fell  upon 
Mr.  Maynard,  walking  with  unusual  rapidity  towards 
the  house.  As  she  watched  him  pass  through  the  gate 
and  hasten  up  the  long  avenue,  there  was  a  strange 
fluttering  at  her  heart,  for  which  she  chided  herself,  but 
which  she  could  not  subdue.  Entering  the  parlor,  he 
was  too  much  agitated  himself  to  notice  her  agitation. 
A  breathless  silence  ensued,  for  he  could  with  difficulty 
command  his  emotions  sufficiently  to  speak.  Marion 
felt  certain  that  he  bore  heavy  tidings. 

"  My  dear  sister,  you  must  allow  me  to  speak  on  a 
forbidden  theme.  But  I  pray  you  to  be  calm."  She 
grew  pale  as  death.  After  a  pause  he  continued, 
"Dear  Maurice  — "  but  tears  again  interrupted  him, 
while  Marion  sat  rigid  as  a  statue.  Beginning  once 
more,  he  sobbed  out,  "Dear  Maurice  —  is  a  Chris- 
turn." 


356  MARION  GRAHAM: 

The  words  had  hardly  escaped  his  lips  when  he  saw 
that  Marion  was  falling  in  a  fainting  fit.  Laying  her 
gently  upon  the  sofa,  and  sprinkling  water  in  her  face, 
her  color  soon  returned.  It  was  some  little  time  before 
she  could  recall  what  had  happened.  When  at  length 
it  came  back  to  her,  she  sprang  up,  and  looking  wis> 
fully  into  his  face,  she  asked, — 

"  Did  I  hear  aright  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  sister  !  God  has  answered  your  prayers. 
Maurice  has  renounced  that  infidelity  of  which  I  was 
only  partially  aware,  and  is  now  a  Christian." 

The  tears  flowed  silently  from  her  eyes  as  she  took 
the  extended  letter.  And  Mr.  Maynard,  divining  her 
wish,  left  her  to  her  own  thoughts,  saying  to  himself, 
as  he  walked  slowly  home,  — 

"  She  certainly  does  love  him.  What  strange  mys- 
tery can  have  separated  them  ?  " 

Marion  pressed  the  letter  to  her  heart,  and  retiring  to 
the  solitude  of  her  chamber,  gave  herself  up  to  un- 
controllable emotion.  Every  other  feeling  was  merged 
in  the  immeasurable  joy  of  that  unexpected  announce- 
ment. And  fervent  was  the  outgushing  gratitude  of 
her  soul,  as  she  read  the  following  letter  dated  at 
Jerusalem : 

"  Could  I  sit  down  beside  you,  my  dear  Brother,  I 
might,  perhaps,  give  you  some  idea  of  what  my  pen  is 
utterly  inadequate  to  convey.  From  your  letters,  I 
have  been  aware  that  you  had  but  little  apprehension 
of  my  entire  and  confirmed  scepticism.  Yet  I  ought  to 
admit  that,  in  my  discussions  with  a  Christian  friend, 
there  occasionally  crossed  my  mind  a  vague  suspicion 
of  the  fallacy  of  my  rationalistic  conclusions.  By 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  357 

speculation,  I  was  a  settled  infidel,  but  the  voice  of  my 
better  nature  harmonized  with  the  utterances  of  truth. 

I  must  also  acknowledge  that  I  have  never  been  able 
to  efface  the  peculiar  impressions  I  received  in  my  fre- 
quent religious  conversations  with  that  illiterate,  yet 
wise  woman,  Elsie  Green.  When  under  the  spell  of 
her  singular  influence,  I  used  sometimes  to  ask  myself, 
'  whence  hath  she  this  wisdom,  unless  she  is  taught  of 
heaven  ? '  Her  earnest  words  of  simple  trust  in  God, 
never  wavering  amid  the  deepest  obscurities  and  mys- 
teries of  his  moral  government,  and  firmest,  when  in  the 
depths  of  her  own  personal  afflictions,  sank  into  my 
heart  with  a  power  of  emotion  which  no  eloquence  of 
man  could  have  produced.  I  never  shah1  forget  with 
what  simple  fervor  she  repeated  that  text,  '  God  so 
loved  the  world ; '  nor  the  energy  with  which  she  re- 
plied to  me,  when  in  order  to  test  her  faith,  I  warily 
suggested  some  doubts  as  to  the  Lord's  designs  of 
mercy  towards  her.  In  her  unschooled  language,  she 
said,  — 

'  I  can't  be  mistaken  no  ways,  'cause  you  see  He's 
promised  that  all  them  who  puts  their  trust  in  Him 
shan't  niver  be  disappointed.  And  you  don't  s'pose  the 
dear,  lovin'  Lord  would  think  for  a  moment  of  breakin' 
his  promise  to  a  poor  critter  who  pended  ivery  thing 
on't.  No,  no.  Ye'll  see  yersel'  how  true  it'll  come. 
My  black  sins,  ivery  one  on  'em  '11  be  washed  out,  and 
I  shall  have  on  a  shinin'  starry  robe,  sich  as  the  angels 
wear.  Oh !  but  it's  too  much  for  a  wicked  critter  like 
me,  only  He's  promised  it,  He's  promised  it'  And  the 
tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

Her  last  words  as  I  shook  hands  with  her  were, 
'  Now,  don't  fail  of  heaven!'  Their  echo  has  never  died 


358  MARION   GRAHAM; 

out  of  my  soul.  But  the  pride  of  reason  wholly  forbade 
that  childlike  spirit  which  alone  could  lead  me  into  the 
truth. 

The  death  of  my  dear  little  namesake  was  a  greater 
grief  to  me  than  any  of  you  have  imagined.  And 
while  musing  upon  his  passing  out  of  life  so  early, 
I  often  asked  myself,  — '  Was  that  precious  bark 
launched  on  this  great  sea,  merely  to  float  for  a  moment, 
like  a  bubble,  upon  its  waters  ;  and  then  drift  silently 
away  into  the  dark  dreariness  of  annihilation  ? ' 

When,  so  soon  after,  came  the  tidings  of  my  father's 
death,  the  question  occurred  to  me,  '  Are  these  repeated 
blows  the  work  of  chance,  or  is  there  a  God  who  inflicts 
them,  and  for  some  definite  purpose  ? '  But  I  sternly 
and  persistently  shut  down  out  of  hearing  these  earnest 
and  tender  monitions,  and  wandered  further  and  further 
into  the  gloomy  regions  of  eternal  doubt. 

In  compliance  with  the  earnest  request  of  a  friend,  1 
had  given  my  promise  carefully  to  peruse  the  Bible  in 
the  land  where  it  was  written ;  and  although  I  some- 
times regretted  this  promise,  yet  I  sacredly  fulfilled  it. 
I  was  at  once  forcibly  struck  with  the  abundant  and  re- 
markable illustrations  which  this  whole  region  furnishes 
of  the  historical  truth  of  Scripture,  so  far  as  its  allusions 
to  ancient  places  and  customs  are  concerned.  And  I 
was  compelled  to  admit  that  it  is  the  most  accurate 
guide-book  to  any  traveller  in  those  lands  of  antiquity. 

But  I  will  not  attempt  to  enumerate  the  external  evi- 
dences, which  gradually  overcame  my  objective  difficul- 
ties. As  I  continued  to  study  the  sacred  oracles,  their 
intrinsic  excellence,  and  transcendent  sublimity  and 
divinity,  were  increasingly  manifest ;  and  I  became 
more  and  more  penetrated  with  the  assurance  of  their 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  369 

celestial  origin.     These  convictions,  however,  were  of 
of  the  reason,  rather  than  of  the  heart. 

The  news  of  my  favorite  sister's  death  plunged  me 
into  the  depths  of  sorrow.  But  as  I  read  the  account 
of  her  peaceful  departure,  I  could  not  help  asking  my- 
self again  and  again,  — 

'How  could  that  frail,  clinging  woman,  calmly  bid 
farewell  to  those  whom  she  so  tenderly  loved  ?  —  how 
could  her  vision  joyfully  leap  the  frightful  abyss  of 
death,  but  that  heaven  is  an  assured,  a  glorious  reality?' 
The  perfect  serenity  with  which  she  launched  on  the 
dark  waters,  was  an  irresistible  argument  for  the  faith 
she  professed.  And  my  yearning  heart  exclaimed,  '  Let 
me  embrace  that  faith,  even  though  it  prove  a  delusion.' 
Then,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  did  prayer  break  from 
my  lips.  '  Lord,  I  believe,  help  thou  mine  unbelief! ' 
Ah,  my  dear  brother !  the  evidence  that  came  in  an- 
swer to  that  one  earnest  petition,  outweighed  whole 
volumes  of  argument.  How  could  I  doubt  my  own 
consciousness  ? 

I  have  neither  time  nor  ability  to  describe  the  in- 
creasing clearness  and  glory  of  the  new  light  which 
had  dawned  on  my  soul,  nor  the  rich  sweetness  of  that 
peace  which  I  had  begun  to  taste.  But  I  ask  you  to 
unite  your  thanksgivings  with  mine,  that,  having  long 
experienced  the  miserable  unrest  of  the  sceptic,  I  now 
know  the  precious  repose  of  the  believer.  It  is  my 
most  earnest  desire  that  I  may  honor  my  Lord  and 
Saviour  Jesus  Christ.  And  I  have  no  higher  ambition 
than  to  proclaim  to  my  lost  and  guilty  brothers  and  sis- 
ters, his  unsearchable  riches ;  —  to  allure  them  from  the 
broken  cisterns  of  earth,  to  the  inexhaustible  fountain 
of  eternal  love. 


360  MARION  GRAHAM; 

Before  closing,  let  me  request  you  to  make  Miss 
Graham  acquainted  with  the  contents  of  this  letter. 
My  obligations  for  her  kind  and  Christian  faithfulness, 
eternity  alone  can  measure.  I  believe  it  will  be  her 
best  reward  to  know  that  I  have  consecrated  my  re- 
maining life  to  my  Redeemer.  Express  to  her  my 
heartfelt  wishes  for  her  highest  happiness  here  and 
hereafter.  And  tell  her  that  it  was  in  the  garden  of 
Gethsemane  I  first  prayed ;  and  that,  raising  my  Bible 
in  my  clasped  hands,  my  heart  cried  out  with  John 
Huss,  '  O  God,  my  Lord,  and  Author  of  my  life,  guide 
me  into  thy  truth.' 

Perhaps  she  will  keep  the  enclosed  leaf,  which,  on 
that  memorable  occasion,  I  gathered  for  her  from  the 
sacred  garden.  In  addition  to  the  hallowed  associa- 
tions for  which  she  will  cherish  it,  it  may  serve  as  a 
token  of  my  unceasing  remembrance  of  her  fidelity, 
and  an  encouragement  for  her  future  labors,  even  in  the 
most  unpromising  soil. 

Say  to  her  that  Elsie's  legacy  of  her  well-worn  Tes- 
tament will  be  doubly  precious  to  me ;  also  that  the 
prediction  she  repeated,  proved  true  ;  —  when  a  shining 
ray  of  God's  love  touched  my  cold  heart,  it  was  melted 
like  the  ice  in  the  warm  sunbeams  of  spring.  I  hope 
not  to  disappoint  Elsie's  expectations  of  meeting  me  in 
the  golden  streets,  and  I  have  not  a  doubt  that  we  shah" 
know  one  another. 

Ask  her  if  she  remembers  the  passage  she  copied 
for  me  from  Hinton's  Mystery  of  Pain,  as  to  the 
consecration  of  our  sorrows  to  the  redemption  of  the 
world  ?  In  procuring  the  other  books  she  named  I 
found  that  also,  which  I  have  read  more  than  once, 
I  trust  I  can  now  say,  from  the  heart, — 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  361 

'The  best  in  life,  reading  it  by  faith,  is  that  part 
of  it  wherein  there  is  inflicted  on  us  and  accepted 
from  us,  inevitable  sacrifices ;  it  is  in  losses  we  cannot 
escape,  pains  that  God  calls  on  us  to  bear,  bafflings 
from  which  no  effort  can  set  us  free.  These  things 
are  the  best  in  life,  for  these  are  God's  taking  our 
poor  services  —  and  himself  using  them  in  ways  too 
good,  too  deep  and  wide  for  us  to  see ;  these  are  our 
contributions  to  the  world's  redemption.' 

While  the  call  for  service  presses,  rapidly  is  time 
bearing  us  on !  And  the  mountain-waves  of  sor- 
row which  are  now  perpetually  breaking  over  us,  and 
sometimes  threatening  to  engulf  us,  will  soon  be  passed. 
God  grant  that  I  may  meet  all  my  cherished  friends  on 
that  bright  shore  where  change  and  partings  never 
come !  Till  then,  I  bid  welcome  to  all  the  griefs  a 
Father's  hand  has  appointed  me,  assured  that  he  will 
not  inflict  one  needless  pang. 

I  go  directly  to  Germany  for  the  purposes  of  study, 
and  cannot  now  fix  the  time  for  my  return.  But  tell 
rny  dear  mother  that  I  long  to  see  her  face,  and  that, 
whether  present  or  absent,  I  hope  I  may  yet  bring  some 
comfort  to  her  declining  days. 

Your  brother  in  new  bonds  of  affection, 

MAURICE  VINTON." 

No  description  could  do  justice  to  the  strangely  min- 
gled emotions  with  which  Marion  read  and  re-read  this 
letter.  The  indescribable  joy,  that,  like  a  glad  torrent, 
had  flooded  her  soul  at  the  assurance  of  Maurice's  con- 
version, was  gradually  tempered  with  an  inexplicable 
sadness.  With  the  fullest  expressions  of  his  repose  in 
the  love  of  God,  there  breathed  a  chastened,  mournful 
undertone,  that  was  unconsciously  echoed  in  the  depths 


362  MARION  GRAHAM; 

of  her  heart.  The  closing  parts  of  the  letter  fell  upon 
her  like  a  dirge  over  all  earthly  hopes  —  a  requiem  for 
the  dead  and  buried.  And  she  passed  a  few  hours  in 
a  tearful  conflict,  which  no  earthly  being  could  have 
fully  comprehended. 

But, with  the  reaction  of  an  elastic  nature,  hope  at 
length  sprang  up  anew,  \vhispering  a  thousand  bright 
suggestions.  "  He  wished  her  to  learn  this  change 
through  others.  He  feared  the  effect  of  too  sudden  an 
announcement  upon  one  with  whom  he  was  second 
only  to  God.  And  now,  having  given  her  time  to 
drink  in  the  full  joy  of  the  present,  and  to  grow  sober 
from  the  first  intoxication  of  anticipating  the  boundless 
bliss  of  the  future  ;  —  with  every  barrier  broken  down, 
and  then1  souls  free  to  rush  into  an  eternal  embrace  ;  — 
now,  he  would  break  the  long,  long  silence."  And 
her  maidenly  heart  thrilled  with  unutterable  happiness 
as  she  pictured  to  herself  w^hat  a  world  of  long  sup- 
pressed affection  that  letter  would  contain. 

So,  with  tears  of  blended  gratitude  and  joy,  she  ten- 
derly placed  the  Gethsemane  token  between  the  leaves 
of  her  Bible,  failing  not  to  press  it  to  her  glowing  lips. 

Woe  worth  ah1  earthly  dreams !  Days  passed  away 
—  weeks  marched  relentlessly  on  —  but  the  letter  — 
THE  LETTER — did  not  come.  And  as  her  hopes  died  a 
slow  and  torturing  deatfi,  the  old  burden,  with  its  new 
weight  of  aggravated  suffering,  heavily  settled  down 
upon  her  weary  spirit,  as  if  a  load  she  was  forever  to 
bear.  She  chided  herself  for  ingratitude  and  perverse- 
ness,  but  the  gloom  only  gathered  about  her  in  deeper 
shadows.  Alas !  — 

"  How  many  watchers  in  life  there  be, 
For  the  ship  that  never  comes  over  the  sea  ! " 


OE,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  363 

It  was  now  about  a  year  since  she  had  seen  Mr.  Sun- 
derland.  His  words  at  their  last  interview  occasionally 
came  over  her  as  a  prophetic  warning.  As  she  sat 
thinking  of  him  one  evening,  and  longing  for  some  of 
his  cheering  words,  he  suddenly  appeared  before  her, 
having  contrived  to  take  Glenwood  on  his  return  from 
a  journey.  On  hearing  the  tidings  concerning  Maurice, 
his  face  was  lighted  up  with  the  purest  pleasure. 

"  But  my  sister  looks  worn  and  weary." 

Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  as  she  replied, 

"Do  you  remember  saying,  'God  may  hear  your 
prayers,  and  yet  other  barriers  rise  up  between  you  ?  ' '; 

"  But  has  any  thing  happened  ?  " 

"  His  last  communication  to  me  was  written  more 
than  a  year  since." 

"  There  is  surely  some  mistake." 

She  had  copied  his  letter  to  Mr.  Maynard,  and  she 
now  silently  placed  it  in  Mr.  Sunderland's  hand.  Hav- 
ing carefully  read  it  twice  over,  he  sat  for  some  minutes 
absorbed  in  thought,  while  Marion  waited  as  if  her 
fate  hung  on  his  lips.  At  length  he  broke  the  painful 
silence. 

"  There  is  a  mystery  about  the  matter ;  but  I  cannot 
doubt  for  one  moment  that  it  arises  from  some  misap- 
prehension which  time  will  dispel.  Can  I  in  any  way 
mediate  for  you  ?  "  he  added,  with  some  hesitation. 

"  Nay,  dear  brother,"  replied  she,  mournfully  shaking 
her  head.  "  Self-respect  would  forbid  that.  It  belongs 
to  him  to  inquire  into  any  apparent  misunderstanding; 
and,  if  he  still  loved  me,  he  would  not  fail  to  do  it." 

"  I  will  not  urge  what  I  wish  I  had  liberty  to  do. 
But  it  will  never  answer  for  you  to  brood  over  your 
o\vn  Thoughts.  How  comes  on  the  German?" 


364  MARION  GRAHAM; 

«  Not  at  all." 

"  How  much  do  you  work  in  your  garden  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  How  often  do  you  walk  ?     And " 

"  No  more,  if  you  please.  I  plead  guilty  of  indolence 
and  selfishness.  My  time  has  passed  according  to  my 
mood.  I  have  neglected  study  and  exercise,  and,  what 
is  worse,  I  have  not  interested  myself  in  trying  to  do 
good.  I  owe  you  this  wholesale  confession,  and  I  will 
meekly  receive  your  deserved  lecture." 

"  I  have  no  lecture  to  give,"  replied  he,  smiling  kindly 
upon  her.  u  I  can  safely  leave  you  to  the  custody  of 
conscience." 

"  But  you  see  I  have  been  very  heedless  of  her  ad- 
monitions." 

"  In  the  clamoring  of  other  voices,  hers  may,  for  a 
time,  have  been  lost.  But  you  have  now  caught  her 
gentle  tones,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  give  heed."  Then, 
in  a  subdued  voice,  he  added,  "  Your  health  is  too 
precious  to  be  sacrificed,  and  your  influence  is  worth 
too  much  to  be  wasted  in  vain  dreamings.  Like  the 
sunshine,  it  should  be  wide  spread,  and  everywhere 
gladden  desolate  hearts.  Through  sorrow's  ripening 
power,  many  a  one  has  become  the  benefactor  of  his 
race.  To  live  for  such  an  object  is  worthy  of  my  sis- 
ter's ambition.  But  I  trust  happiness  also  is  written  for 
you.  Be  patient,  be  cheerful,  and " 

«  And  if  otherwise  ?  " 

Hesitating  a  moment,  "  Then  may  God  comfort 
you !  "  And  silently  pressing  her  hand,  he  left  her. 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


"Father  in  heaven!  Thou,  only  thou  canst  sound 
The  heart's  great  deep,  with  floods  of  anguish  filled, 
For  human  life,  too  fearfully  profound. 

It  well  may  be, 

That  Thou  wouldst  lead  my  spirit  back  to  Thee, 
By  the  crushed  hope  too  long  on  this  world  poured, 
The  stricken  love  which  hath  perchance  adored 
A  mortal  in  Thy  place." 


IT  was  now  approaching  the  second  anniversary  of 
that  scene  with  Maurice  so  engraved  on  Marion's  mem- 
ory, and  which  was  soon  followed  by  her  father's  sudden 
departure  from  earth.  The  wide  sea  separated  her  from 
the  one,  and  the  river  of  death  from  the  other.  With 
both,  all  communication  seemed  equally  cut  off. 

Nothing  had  been  heard  from  Maurice  since  the  letter 
from  Palestine.  His  mother's  health  had  been  quite 
feeble  all  summer,  and  now  she  was  evidently  failing. 
Marion  spent  a  part  of  every  day  with  her,  endeavoring, 
so  far  as  possible,  to  supply  the  place  of  a  daughter. 
Mrs.  Vinton  often  expressed  a  strong  desire  to  see 
Maurice,  but  seemed  unwilling  to  have  any  thing  said, 
which  should  interfere  with  his  plans.  At  length,  how- 
ever, she  consented  to  have  Mr.  Maynard  inform  him 
of  her  condition,  and  of  her  earnest  wish  to  behold  his 
face  once  more. 

The  last  autumnal  month  had  come,  and  Mr.  May- 


8G6  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

nard  was  every  day  looking  anxiously  for  a  reply  to  his 
letter.  Mrs.  Vinton  was  not,  indeed,  suffering  from  any 
acute  disease.  Her  sickness  was  a  gradual  failure  of 
the  powers  of  life.  But  although,  on  some  days,  she 
was  quite  comfortable,  yet  it  was  felt  that  her  departure 
could  not  be  very  distant.  She  still  cherished  a  lively 
interest  in  what  passed  around  her,  and  great  pains 
was  taken  to  give  her  room  a  cheerful  aspect,  while 
Marion  brought  a  frequent  offering  of  flowers. 

It  was  one  of  those  sweet  fall  days,  all  the  more 
charming  for  being  out  of  season.  Marion  came  from 
Graham  Hall  with  her  accustomed  bouquet  in  one  hand, 
and  a  small,  empty  basket  in  the  other.  What  this 
signified  was  soon  manifest ;  for,  as  she  slowly  walked 
beneath  the  maple  trees,  decked  out  in  all  their  gor- 
geous beauty,  she  began  to  fill  her  basket  with  the 
bright-tinted  leaves,  which  were  continually  dropping 
in  gold  and  crimson  showers.  This  season  had  always 
been  one  full  of  melancholy  to  her,  but  the  associations 
now  linked  with  it  deepened  this  feeling.  The  strange 
dreaminess  of  the  atmosphere,  the  subdued  tone  of  na- 
ture in  all  her  variety  of  perfumes  and  sights  and  sounds, 
and  the  golden  haze  which  lay  softly  upon  the  distant 
hills,  —  all  this  luxuriant  but  fading  beauty  and  glory 
oppressed  her  with  an  indefinable  sadness.  The  past, 
with  its  bitter  and  repeated  trials,  the  present,  with  the 
burden  of  its  deep  and  sorrowful  mystery,  and  the  fu- 
ture, wrapped  in  gloom,  —  alike  came  vividly  before 
her. 

While  thus  musing,  she  continued  gathering  the 
choicest  leaves.  When  her  basket  was  full  and  closely 
packed,  she  proceeded  to  Mrs.  Vinton's.  But  before 
she  enters,  we  will  take  a  glance  into  the  sick  room. 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  367 

In  a  large  easy  chair,  not  a  modern  improvement,  but 
of  the  old-fashioned  kind,  and  wearing  a  white  dimity 
cover,  sat  the  grandmother,  with  a  rose-blanket  around 
her,  while  her  feet  rested  on  a  low  stool.  She  had  on 
a  snowy  cap,  beneath  which  her  soft  brown  hair,  just 
sprinkled  with  silver,  was  parted  over  her  forehead.  A 
smile  played  on  her  serene  face,  for  she  was  watching 
baby's  unsuccessful  attempts  to  creep,  which  generally 
ended  in  a  harmless  roll,  when,  nothing  daunted,  she 
would  begin  again,  only  to  arrive  at  the  same  mortify- 
ing conclusion. 

Her  nurse,  Maria,  sat  on  the  carpet  beside  her,  while 
her  father's  eyes  were  playing  traitor  to  the  open  book 
before  him.  Old  Judy,  having  just  happened  in,  found 
occasion,  as  she  often  did,  to  linger  near  the  door,  and 
join  the  rest  in  admiring  Bessie's  wonderful  doings. 
Suddenly  a  light  tap,  and  Marion  enters.  Having  kissed 
Mrs.  Vinton,  she  held  up  the  flowers  before  her,  and 
then  did  the  same  to  baby,  who,  imitating  grandma, 
snuffed  at  them  again  and  again,  vastly  to  the  entertain- 
ment of  the  beholders.  This  scene  being  ended,  Marion 
put  the  flowers  into  a  vase,  and  then  displayed  her  gay 
basket. 

"  Beautiful !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vinton,  as  she  touched 
the  leaves  with  her  thin  fingers.  When  they  were  held 
before  Bessie,  she  began  to  snuff  at  them  as  she  had 
done  at  the  flowers. 

"  But  these  are  not  good  to  smell  of,  darling ;  touch 
them  with  your  fingers  as  grandma  did." 

Whereupon  little  Miss  put  her  two  tiny  plump  hands 
into  the  basket,  and  began  showering  leaves  all  over  thf 
carpet,  old  Judy  laughing  till  the  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 


3G8  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

"  She's  a  'cute  one.  And  so  was  her  mother  afore 
her." 

"  There,  that  will  do,"  said  Marion,  gathering  them 
up.  And  having  volunteered  to  look  after  baby,  Maria 
and  Judy  both  left  the  room.  Marion  then  plaited  a 
gold  and  crimson  wreath  for  her  favorite,  and,  having 
crowned  her  sunny  curls,  took  her  to  the  glass,  whereat 
she  crowed  most  lustily.  Then  Marion  placed  her 
again  on  the  floor,  and  showered  leaves  on  her  head. 
The  golden,  rustling  things  rolled  down  baby's  face  and 
neck,  and  fell  about  her  arms  and  feet,  causing  the  little 
victim  a  delight  most  edifying  to  behold.  The  shouts 
of  laughter  brought  back  Judy,  who,  with  all  the  freedom 
of  a  privileged  servant,  planted  herself  on  the  threshold, 
holding  the  door  in  her  hand. 

Suddenly,  it  was  softly  pushed  open  from  the  outside, 
and  a  tall  form  entered.  As  it  glided  past,  Judy  held  up 
both  hands,  exclaiming, — 

"  Massy  on  me,  —  but  it's  Massa  Maurice  hisself." 

Speaking  to  no  one,  seeming  to  notice  no  one,  but 
hastening  past  them  all,  he  tenderly  kissed  his  mother's 
cheek,  and,  without  uttering  a  word,  knelt  down  beside 
her.  Marion  took  up  Bessie  and  left  the  room,  motion- 
ing to  Judy  to  come  with  her,  while  Mr.  Maynard  fol- 
lowed, carefully  closing  the  door. 

And  the  mother  and  her  long-parted  son  were  there 
alone.  What  a  sweet  content  filled  the  one !  —  what 
an  impetuous  tide  swept  over  the  other !  As  Memory 
unrolled  her  rapid  panorama,  touching  recollections  of 
the  prattling  child,  the  kind  father,  and  the  loving  sister, 
—  all  passed  away  forever,  —  rushed  upon  him  with  the 
vividness  of  present  reality.  Then  came  images  of  part- 
ing, of  death,  of  unlooked-for  change,  of  heart-breaking 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  8G9 

disappointments,  and  of  consuming,  life-long  sorrow. 
To  him,  that  brief  moment  seemed  an  age  of  agony  ; 
and,  bowing  his  head  on  his  mother's  lap,  he  wept  as 
man  seldom  weeps.  The  gentle  mother  had  no  suspi- 
cion of  the  strength  of  his  emotions,  but  she  sought  to 
soothe  him  with  tender  endearments.  And  Maurice 
remembered  her  feeble  state ;  and,  fervently  lifting  up 
his  heart  for  divine  strength,  the  storm  gradually  sub- 
sided. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Maynard  and  Marion  sat  ab- 
stracted and  silent  in  another  room,  while  the  baby  was 
left  to  amuse  herself  on  the  floor.  Every  now  and  then, 
Judy  would  put  in  her  head,  turn  it  in  all  directions, 
and  then  suddenly  withdraw  it.  At  length  a  step  was 
heard  crossing  the  hall.  Mr.  Maynard  sprang  forward, 
and,  in  a  moment,  his  hand  warmly  grasped  that  of 
Maurice.  The  latter  next  advanced  towards  Marion, 
but  avoided  her  eyes.  Her  emotion  was,  at  first,  un- 
controllable, but  his  distant  manner  gave  her  instant 
composure.  And  had  they  then  and  there  met  as 
entire  strangers,  their  greeting  could  not  have  exhibited 
more  coldness  and  formality. 

All  this  time  not  one  word  had  been  spoken. 

"  Is  this  Bessie  ?  "  inquired  Maurice  in  a  husky  voice, 
while  he  lifted  the  child  from  the  floor.  The  little  one 
looked  wistfully  in  his  eyes,  hid  her  face  for  a  moment 
on  his  shoulder,  and  then  stretched  out  her  hands  to 
Judy,  who  had  been  standing  just  outside  the  door. 
She  now  stepped  forward,  and,  taking  the  baby  in  her 
arms,  received  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hands. 

"  O  Massa,  I  can't  tell  nohow,  how  thankful  I  is  to 
see  you  agin.  Dis  yer  child  is  our  Bessie,  and  the 
pootiest  cretur  ye  ever  sot  eyes  on,  allers  barrin'  her 
mother." 


C70  MARION  GRAHAM; 

While  this  scene  was  passing,  Marion  softly  slipped 
out  of  the  room,  and  giving  one  hasty  glance  at  the 
travel- worn,  dusty  trunk  that  stood  in  the  porch,  she 
hurriedly  retraced  her  steps  over  that  golden,  rustling 
pathway  where  she  had  just  now  lingered  to  gather  the 
bright  leaves.  Entering  her  own  chamber,  she  closed 
the  blinds  and  dropped  the  curtains  to  shut  out  the  gar- 
ish day,  and  then  sat  down  to  feed  herself  upon  the 
ashes  of  bitterness.  With  fearful  intensity  she  dwelt 
on  that  terrible  struggle  between  reason  and  passion, 
followed  by  that  bitterest  of  partings ;  on  her  long, 
long  sorrow,  her  ever-returning  conflict,  her  days  and 
nights  of  vain  hoping  —  waiting  —  watching  —  and 
her  boundless  love  that  had  triumphed  over  all.  And 
this  had  been  their  meeting  —  this  was  her  reward! 
Strange  that  the  heart-strings  can  be  so  tightly  pressed, 
and  yet  not  snap  asunder ! 

Whether  the  scene  through  which  she  had  passed, 
had  been  too  much  for  Mrs.  Vinton,  or  whether  she 
had  been  sustained  for  that  very  meeting,  cannot  be 
told.  But  having  experienced  the  fulness  of  satisfac- 
tion in  once  more  embracing  her  son,  she  now  sank 
rapidly.  And  not  three  days  had  gone  by,  when  she 
passed  into  the  spirit-land. 

As  they  were  gathered  in  the  cemetery,  Marion  stood 
where  she  could  see  Maurice  without  being  seen.  This 
was  the  first  opportunity  she  had  had  really  to  look 
upon  his  face,  and  she  was  saddened  to  find  it  so  pale 
and  worn  with  suffering.  Yet  she  also  read  there  a 
chastened  elevation,  which  spoke  of  heavenly  commun- 
ings.  Her  gaze  was  long  and  earnest,  but  she  did  not 
meet  his  eye,  that  sure  revelator,  and  thus  his  heart 
remained  shrouded  with  impenetrable  mystery. 


OR,    HIOHKR   THAN    HAPPINESS.  371 

She  knew  not  how  to  resist  the  pressing  invitation 
of  Mr.  Maynard,  and  Bessie's  sisters  now  in  Glenwood, 
to  return  to  tea  with  them  that  night.  Besides,  who 
could  say  that  an  explanation  might  not  thus,  in  some 
way,  be  brought  about  ?  Mr.  Morton  also  was  there, 
and  it  was  an  hour  of  tender  recollections  to  them  all. 
But  little  attempt  was  made  at  conversation,  and  that 
was  chiefly  on  Mr.  Morton's  part.  In  reply  to  his  in- 
quiries, Maurice  stated  that  it  was  his  intention  to  go 
the  next  day  to  New  York,  and,  as  soon  as  he  could 
make  the  necessary  arrangements,  to  proceed  to  the 
South  for  the  purpose  of  recruiting  his  health ;  after 
which  he  should  return  to  the  city,  and  resume  his 
studies  there.  And  Marion  listened  to  all  this  with  ap- 
parent unconcern. 

After  tea,  as  they  were  passing  into  the  parlor,  in  or- 
der to  relieve  her  almost  insupportable  oppression,  Ma- 
rion, unnoticed  as  she  supposed,  stepped  to  the  door, 
and,  seating  herself  beneath  the  clustering  vines  of  the 
old  porch,  leaned  her  aching  head  against  the  trellis. 
But  there  was  a  watchful  eye  that  had  not  lost  one  of 
her  movements.  Maurice  entered  the  room,  but  pres- 
cn'ly  came  out  again  and  stood  beside  her. 

"  Miss  Graham  ! " 

She  looked  up,  but  he  was  careful  not  to  meet  her 
gaxe.  After  an  evident  struggle  with  himself,  he  said,  — 

"  I  cannot  leave  without  once  more  expressing  my 
fervent  thanks  for  all  your  patient  labor  in  my  behalf. 
Nor  am  I  ungrateful  for  your  very  kind  and  constant 
attentions  to  my  departed  father  and  mother  and  sister. 
I  had  hoped "  The  words  died  on  his  lips.  Paus- 
ing, he  continued  with  effort,  "  Whatever  may  be  the 


T,72  MARTOX    flRAHAM  ? 

appearance,  you  cannot  doubt  that  yonr   happiness  is 

still  dear  to  me,  and  that " 

A  moment's  suspense,  during  which  Marion's  heart 
almost  stopped  beating!  Then,  taking  her  hand  in  both 
his,  and  wringing  it  in  silence,  he  abruptly  withdrew. 

There  is  not  a  more  torturing  gift  in  the  power  of  the 
fates  than  suspense.  Nothing  can  so  wear  away  the 
stoutest  heart.  When  a  blow  actually  falls,  terrible  as 
it  may  be,  the  faculties,  after  awhile,  recover  from  its 
stunning  effect.  The  wounded  spirit  rallies  its  forces, 
looks  its  sorrows  in  the  face,  and  gauges  its  dimensions. 
But  in  suspense,  it  is  with  a  shadow  the  battle  is 
fought ;  and  shadows  are  invulnerable  —  unconquera- 
ble. There  is  no  armor  that  can  defend  us,  no  weapon 
by  which  we  can  make  resistance.  Whichever  way  we 
turn,  there  it  looms  up,  an  indefinable  spectre,  shutting 
out  the  sunshine,  and  spreading  gloom  in  our  pathway. 

Many  a  conflict  had  Marion  already  waged  with  this 
dreaded  foe.  Fortune,  or  rather  that  divine  providence 
whose  wisdom  none  may  challenge,  had  appointed 
to  her  dreary  seasons,  when  she  knew  not  whether  to 
turn  to  the  right  hand  or  the  left.  And  now  she  feels 
too  weary  to  struggle  longer.  But  there  is  no  re- 
prieve ;  —  she  must  fight  or  die. 

For  hours  she  pondered  that  last,  inexplicable  inter- 
view. Certainly  Maurice's  manner  was  most  tender, 
his  voice  trembled,  the  warm  pressure  of  his  hand  be- 
trayed emotion.  What  then  could  it  be  —  this  intan- 
gible wall  that  had  risen  up  so  high  between  them? 
Explanation  she  could  not  ask.  There  was  nothing  left 
for  her  but  patience  and  submission. 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  573 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


1 1  fell  flooded  with  a  Dark, 

In  the  silence  of  a  swoon  — 
When  I  rose,  still  cold  and  stark. 
There  was  night,  —  I  saw  the  moon : 
And  the  stars,  each  in  its  place, 
And  the  May-blooms  on  the  grass, 
Seemed  to  wonder  what  I  was." 


As  Marion  came  in  one  day  from  a  long  walk,  she 
met  John  in  the  hall. 

"  I  was  just  after  putting  a  letter  on  the  table, 
ma'am.  The  postmaster  said  it  was  from  New 
York." 

"  God  be  praised ! "  was  the  utterance  of  her  heart 
as  she  quickly  seized  it,  and  bounded  up  the  broad 
staircase  into  her  own  chamber.  She  then  carefully 
locked  the  door ;  not  that  she  feared  intrusion,  but  for 
the  luxury  of  perfect  solitude.  Did  she  sit  down  quietly, 
and  think  about  the  expected  feast?  Nay!  no  more 
depositing  of  letters  in  some  choice  corner,  with  miserly 
care  hoarding  their  contents  for  future  use.  As  the 
drooping  flower  piteously  lifts  up  its  tiny  cup  to  catch 
the  first  drop  of  rain,  so  did  her  parched  heart  prompt 
her,  with  eager  haste,  to  seek  for  some  life-giving  drops. 
She  had  not  a  doubt  that  it  was  the  long-expected 
missive,  and  with  feverish  impatience  she  glanced  at 
the  superscription.  —  Alas !  it  was  not  from  him.  The 


374  MARION  GRAHAM; 

hand-writing  was  small  and  unformed.  It  was  "  only 
from  cousin  Julia,"  and,  with  a  sickening  disappoint- 
ment, she  flung  it  aside. 

"  But  after  all,"  thought  she,  « it  is  from  New  York, 
and  may  contain  tidings." 

Yes,  Marion !  it  may  indeed  contain  tidings !  —  there- 
fore pray  for  strength. 

She  catches  up  the  rejected  letter,  and,  tearing  open 
the  seal,  tries  to  devour  the  contents  at  a  glance.  Over 
the  first  page  —  over  the  second  —  ah !  now  she  reads 
more  slowly.  But  has  she  looked  upon  Medusa's  head, 
that  her  face  suddenly  wears  that  ghastly  whiteness, 
and  her  eyes  that  stony  glare  ? 

The  first  page  was  filled  with  the  wonderful  sayings 
and  doings  of  little  Marie.  In  the  second,  after  sound- 
ing the  praises  of  her  lord,  Julia  breaks  out  as  if  in 
sudden  recollection, — 

"  Do  you  know,  dear  Coz.  that  you  have  never  ap- 
plauded me  for  my  obedience  ?  You  remember  asking 
me  not  to  name  my  dear  old  Mentor  again,  in  connec- 
tion with  yourself.  Well,  I  have  ever  since  been  per- 
fectly silent  on  the  forbidden  theme,  though  it  has  been 
very  hard  to  give  up  my  old  conceit,  that  you  and  he 
would  some  day  be  married.  And  even  now,  when  it 
is  all  decided  so  differently,  it  seems  unaccountable  that 
you  did  not  come  together.  But  then,  nobody  can 
decide  for  another.  I  am  sure  you  would  not  have 
chosen  me  for  Mr.  McKinstry,  and  yet  I  know  he 
wouldn't  change  me  for  anybody  else. 

But  to  return.  As  the  reward  of  my  silence,  I  have 
the  pleasure  of  announcing  to  you  a  great  piece  of 
news  —  at  least,  I  hope  you  have  not  heard  it  before.  I 


OB,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  375 

have  for  a  day  or  two  been  anticipating  a  treat  in  tell- 
ing you.  Fifth  Avenue  is  full  of  it.  Are  you  all  impa- 
lience  to  hear  ?  Well,  then,  Mr.  Vinton,  your  old  flame, 
is  actually  engaged.  She  is  a  fine  girl,  and  yet  I  hate 
to  give  up  my  own  fancy.  You  certainly  seem  better 
suited  to  him  than  she,  and  I  wonder  he  does  not  feel 
so.  But  I  shouldn't  dare  to  say  so  to  him.  Nobody 
knows  when  the  weeding  is  going  to  take  place." 

"  Will  she  ever  tell  who  ? "  gasped  Marion.  "  Since  his 
return,  he  has  only  called  on  me  once,  and  that,  too, 
when  I  have  such  a  dear  little  Marie.  Isn't  it  a  shame  ? 
He  was  never  like  anybody  else,  though.  But  for  my 
story.  Lenora  happened  in  last  week,  as  gay  as  possi- 
ble, and  no  wonder.  I  caught  her  round  the  waist,  and 
forced  her  into  a  dance.  '  That  is  in  honor  of  your 
wedding.'  '  So  the  news  has  reached  even  you,  little 
Julia,'  replied  she,  looking  as  happy  and  mischievous  as 
possible.  '  Well,  how  false  tidings  do  fly ! '  '  False  ! 
you  don't  mean  to  contradict  it,  then  ? '  '  Not  I, 
indeed !  I  have  no  idea  of  fashing  my  brains  in  any 
such  useless  attempt.'  '  And  you  don't  deny  his  frequent 
visits  and  letters  ? '  '  Not  at  all.  But  that  is  nobody's 
business  save  our  own,  I  conclude.'  '  And  you  know 
very  well,  that  a  wedding  always  follows  such  things ! ' 
'  A  logical  conclusion ! '  said  she,  with  a  roguish  look. 
I  suppose  she  was  alluding  to  my  courtship.  I  wanted 
to  tell  her  what  I  had  once  thought  about  you  and  him, 
but  I  remembered  my  promise.  An't  I  good  ? 

Suddenly  she  looked  very  sober,  exclaiming,  '  I  am 
seriously  provoked  with  your  cousin  for  not  felicitating 
me  on  this  great  event.  Her  congratulations  would  be 
worth  having.  And  she  has  been  owing  me  a  letter  for 
more  than  a  year.'  '  Perhaps  she  has  not  heard  the 


376  MARION   GBAHAM  ; 

news.'  '  You  will  speedily  inform  her,  of  course.  And 
be  sure  to  ask  her  if  she  does  not  admire  my  presump- 
tion in  appropriating  to  myself  the  Adonis  of  the  pres- 
ent generation,  —  nay,  the  very  king  of  the  race!' 
And  then  she  danced  out  of  the  room. 

You  know,  I  suppose,  that  Mr.  Vinton  accompanied 
her  from  England,  coming  home  in  the  same  steamer. 
And  when  he  is  in  the  city,  he  calls  at  her  father's  al- 
most every  day,  as  I  have  told  you  she  admitted. 
He  also  writes  to  her  twice  a  week  when  absent.  High 
time  they  were  engaged,  isn't  it  ?  She  says  he  has 
been  here  once  since  he  left  for  the  South,  and  that  she 
expects  him  again  in  a  few  weeks.  But  enough  for  the 
present." 

Yes,  enough!  Having  bound  her  victim  on  the 
wheel,  and  slowly  kept  it  turning  on  its  agonizing  cir- 
cuit, till  she  is  broken  piecemeal  by  these  successive, 
random  strokes,  —  the  innocent  executioner  has  allowed 
her,  little  by  little,  to  tear  out  the  whole  dreadful  mean- 
ing. Therefore,  thoughtless  torturer,  thou  mayst  now 
stop  the  wheel,  and  unbind  the  sufferer !  She  has  her 
death-blow. 

Words  at  length  broke  forth  from  those  ashen  lips ; 
—  words  of  passionate  misery  —  words  of  proud  re- 
solve. 

"  O  God,  pity  me,  or  I  shall  sink !  Nay,  I  will  calmly 
Irink  the  cup  to  the  very  dregs.  This  is  man's  con- 
stancy !  -—  this  his  return  for  my  gloomy  days,  and 
weary,  weary  nights !  And  this  is  woman's  friendship  ! 
Yet  she  knew  not  what  she  did,  and  can  I  blame  her 
for  listening  to  that  voice  ?  But  he  is  not  worth  my  re- 
grets, and  he  shall  not  triumph  over  me.  —  O  Maurice ! 
Maurice ! " 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  377 

With  that  loved  name,  the  stout  wall  of  pride  fell 
down,  and  the  swelling  surges  engulfed  her.  Bitter 
were  the  burning  drops  that  fell  in  those  passionate 
storms  of  woe  !  Life's  wormwood  and  gall  were  pressed 
into  them.  Terrible  is  that  sorrow,  to  which  weeping 
brings  no  relief,  but  which  leaves  the  brain  and  heart 
dry  and  arid,  as  if  the  blasting  sirocco  had  passed  by, 
with  its  hot  breath  consuming  every  blossom  and  bud, 
—  yea,  every  tender  leaflet  of  love,  and  hope,  and  hap- 
piness. 

It  was  a  wild  tempest  that  raged  within  that  breast, 
—  a  tempest  in  which  reason,  conscience,  religion,  — 
•every  thing,  for  a  time,  was  swept  away.  Could  there 
be  a  righteous  God  in  heaven,  and  yet  such  remediless 
injustice,  such  hopeless  anguish  crush  her  into  the 
depths  of  despair ! 

How  long  she  sat  there,  she  knew  not.  Her  door 
was  fastened,  and  the  servants  were  too  much  accus- 
tomed to  her  independent  habits  to  take  notice  of  them. 
The  sun  sank  as  in  a  sea  of  blood,  and  twilight  spread 
her  grey  mantle  over  the  earth,  but  brought  no  soothing 
to  Marion.  The  household  retired  to  rest.  Spectral 
midnight  came  solemnly  down.  And  still  she  sat  there 
in  darkness  and  misery.  No  moon  !  Only  a  few  cold 
stars  glistened  on  the  black  brow  of  heaven.  The  wind 
rushed  sobbing  round  the  house,  and  through  the  old 
moaning  elms. 

It  was  on  such  a  night  as  this,  two  years  agone,  that 
her  father  had  suddenly  drifted  out  upon  the  shoreless 
sea.  She  thought  of  that  night.  Her  brain  seemed 
cinctured  as  by  a  band  of  red-hot  iron.  She  must  have 
air,  or  faint.  Stealing  down  the  stairs,  and  passing  into 
the  dining-room,  she  rapidly  swallowed  large  draughts 


378  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

of  water.  Then,  going  to  the  hall-door,  she  softly  un- 
barred it,  and  stepped  out  into  the  damp,  cold  night. 
She  flew,  rather  than  walked,  —  down  the  yard,  — 
through  the  gate,  —  on  —  on  —  unheeding,  —  unfearing. 
Was  there  no  gentle  hand  to  calm  that  throbbing 
brow  ?  Were  there  no  angel-wings  outspread  to  pro- 
tect her? 

She  had  so  longed  to  be  delivered  from  the  tortures 
of  suspense ;  —  now  she  would  have  welcomed  them  as 
a  blessed  boon  in  comparison  with  this  intolerable  cer- 
tainty. She  had  been  unable  to  cope  with  a  gigantic, 
ubiquitous  shadow ;  she  now  shrank  in  terror  from  the 
dread  reality,  which,  in  fatal  distinctness  of  outline, 
stood  tauntingly  before  her. 

Was  there  no  escape  from  memory  ?  Were  there  no 
oblivious  waters  to  overflow  her  thought-racked  soul  ? 

Away  from  the  dwellings  of  men  !  —  away  —  where 
the  dead  are  gathered !  In  that  hushed  air,  who  knows 
whether  her  gasping  bosom  may  not  inhale  one  breath 
of  peace  ? 

She  enters  the  old  churchyard,  and  gliding  like  a 
spectre  among  the  white  monuments,  she  reaches  her 
father's  grave.  Unmindful  of  the  heavy  dews,  she 
throws  herself  upon  the  hard  earth.  Clingingly  she 
flings  her  arms  over  the  cold  mound,  as  if  there  alone 
on  the  wide  globe  was  rest  for  her  weary  spirit. 

O  weeper !  dost  thou  think  to  waken  him  with  thine 
orphan  cries  ?  Nay,  he  is  not  under  those  damp  clods. 
It  may  be  he  lingers  near  thee  in  this  night  of  agony. 

But  Marion  perceives  no  angelic  presence.  The 
clouds  of  human  passion  and  human  woe  have  shut  up 
all  her  faculties  to  unmitigated  anguish.  Not  yet  can 
heavenly  influences  reach  her. 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPIXFXS.  370 

Through  hours  that  swept  tumultuously  by,  that 
dew-covered  grave  was  her  cold  pillow.  But  at  length 
those  long,  heavy-laden  moments  were  numbered,  and 
there  quivered  upon  her  burning  eyelids  the  faintest 
crimson  ray  from  the  orient.  Lifting  herself  with  diffi- 
culty, she  slowly  retraced -her  weary  steps,  noiselessly 
reentered  the  hall-door,  cautiously  barred  it,  and,  seek- 
ing her  own  chamber,  sank  into  a  heavy  lethargy. 

Late  in  the  morning  Polly  stood  at  her  bedside.  Her 
white  cheeks  and  lips,  and  swollen  eyelids,  told  a  sor- 
rowful tale. 

"  Something  has  sorely  fretted  her,"  said  Polly  to 
herself.  "And  now  I'm  afeared  she's  sick.  But  sleep 
is  the  best  thing  for  her." 

Softly  drawing  down  the  curtains,  which  had  not 
been  dropped  all  night,  she  left  her  alone. 

Oh,  that  miserable  waking  !  —  that  sudden  tide  of 
agony  which  rushed  through  the  portals  of  memory !  — 
that  tight  closing  of  the  eyes,  as  if  could  be  thus  shut 
out  all  thought  and  all  sensation ! 

Polly  is  again  at  her  side. 

"  You're  dreadful  sick,  Miss  Marion,  and  I  must  send 
for  the  doctor." 

"  Oh  no,  Polly,  I  need  nothing  but  rest  Say  to  all 
callers  that  I  am  not  quite  well ;  and  be  sure  that  you 
tell  no  one,  not  even  Mr.  Morton,  of  my  sickness." 

She  was  so  positive,  that  Polly  dared  not  disobey, 
though  greatly  perplexed  as  to  what  she  ought  to  do 
for  her  mistress. 

So  passed  away  several  dreary,  burning  days,  full  of 
desolating  fire.  Marion  said  nothing,  ate  nothing,  drank 
nothing  but  water,  and  scarcely  slept.  Sometimes  she 
tossed  upon  her  bed ;  again,  wrapped  in  her  dressing- 


380  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

gown,  she  would  sit  for  hours,  gazing  from  her  window, 
yet  seeing  only  the  gloomy,  distorted  pictures  of  her 
unsettled  mind.  Since  that  night,  indelible  in  memory, 
the  well-spring  of  tears  had  been  sealed.  Not  one  had 
overflowed.  But  that  burning,  boiling,  closed-up  foun- 
tain was  consuming  her  heart.  For  two  years  she  had 
silently  endured.  It  is  the  last  drop  that  brims  over  the 
cup. 

If  any  are  inclined  to  reproach  her  as  wanting  in 
womanly  dignity,  let  them  bless  themselves  that  they 
are  made  of  sterner  stuff.  Marion  had  no  lack  of  self- 
respect,  but  she  was  a  true  woman.  If  she  had  a 
woman's  dignity,  she  had  also  a  woman's  acute  sensi- 
bilities. Yet,  torn  and  bleeding  as  they  now  were,  she 
made  no  outcries.  Hiding  her  incurable  wounds,  she 
resolutely  turned  the  key  upon  her  writhing  soul,  and 
the  world  was  none  the  wiser. 


"  A  letter  from  Carrisford,  Miss  Marion.  I  mistrust 
but  it's  from  the  parson,  and  contains  a  drop  of  com- 
fort" 

Marion  had  longed  for  such  a  letter,  and  with  eager 
hands  she  opened  it.  Commencing  in  his  usual,  broth- 
erly way,  Mr.  Sunderland  at  length  alluded  to  strange 
rumors,  which  had  undoubtedly  reached  her,  of  the 
betrothal  of  Mr.  Vinton  and  Miss  Benson. 

"  I  heard  this  inexplicable  news  over  and  over  again, 
but  gave  no  credence  to  it  Yesterday,  however,  I 
called  at  Mrs.  Austin's,  who  showed  me  a  letter  from 
Lenora,  which,  I  am  compelled  to  say,  puts  the  matter 
beyond  a  doubt.  She  writes :  — '  So  you  too,  it  seems, 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  381 

have  heard  of  my  splendid  daily  visitor,  and  of  our  con- 
sequent engagement.  In  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  veto 
the  tidings,  it  has  flown  far  and  wide.  It  would  there- 
fore be  vain  for  me  to  deny  it.  I  suppose  you  will  now 
expect  me  to  leave  off  sowing  my  wild  oats,  and  to  be 
a  very  model  of  propriety  and  excellence.  You  must 
not,  however,  forget  the  old  proverb,  — 

"  There's  many  a  slip  'tween  cup  and  lip." 

When  the  event  really  comes  off,  I  shall  expect  extraor- 
dinary congratulations.  Even  Mr.  Sunderland's  keen 
vision  could  not  easily  detect  a  blemish  in  the  character 
of  my  peerless  friend  and  admirer.' 

I  have  copied  this  literally,  because  you  will  prefer  to 
know  exactly  what  she  says.  I  am  tempted  to  make 
a  few  comments,  by  way  of  dissenting  from  Miss  Ben- 
son's estimate  of  her  friend.  It  certainly  does  not  re- 
quire extraordinary  vision  to  discover  some  moral  obli- 
quity —  but  I  forbear.  Your  own  cool  judgment  cannot 
differ  from  mine. 

What  more  shall  I  say  ?  Tell  me,  will  you  not,  if 
there  is  any  way  in  which  I  can  serve  you." 

Poor  Marion  !  Her  yearning  for  sympathy  had  not 
been  met.  Mr.  Sunderland  too  had  disappointed  her, 
:«nd  with  a  deep  sigh  she  laid  aside  the  letter. 

Polly  left  the  room,  more  puzzled  than  ever.  Noth- 
ing seemed  to  go  right.  Thereupon  she  fell  into  a  hard 
thinking.  In  her  view,  there  was  nobody  that  quite 
came  up  to  Mr.  Sunderland.  Then  she  had  seen  his 
influence  over  her  mistress,  and  she  felt  sure  she  needed 
it  now.  The  prohibition  to  speak  of  her  sickness  could 


382  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

not  extend  out  of  town.  After  long  meditation,  her 
mind  was  made  up,  and,  full  of  her  enterprise,  with 
great  pains-taking  and  secrecy,  she  collected  writing 
materials,  and  indited  the  following  epistle  : 

"  MR.  SUNDERLAND,  —  Miss  Maryan's  in  a  strange 
way,  and  won't  hav  the  docters  —  she  don't  eat,  and 
can't  sleep,  and  i  dunno  what  to  do  with  her  —  so  i'vr 
bin  a  thinking  as  how  if  you  was  here  —  you  mite  ad- 
vise her —  and  mabbe  she'd  give  heed,  i've  wrote  Ibis, 
feeling  as  if  you  mite  kind  o'  like  to  know. 

POLLY  SOMERS." 

Having  spent  more  than  an  hour  in  this  production, 
she  folded  it  up  square,  sealed  it  thick  and  strong,  und 
wrote  the  direction  at  the  top  of  the  letter. 

"  PARSON  SUNDERLAND, 

Carisford. 
please  deliver  quick." 

She  then  summoned  John,  and  insisted  on  pinning  it 
into  his  pocket.  This  being  accomplished,  and  sundry 
charges  given  concerning  the  important  document,  she 
sent  him  on  his  way  to  the  post-office,  bidding  him 
"  say  nothing  to  nobody." 

Great  was  Mr.  Sunderland's  perplexity  when  the 
aforesaid  epistle,  having  safely  arrived  at  its  destination, 
was  put  into  his  hands.  And,  as  everybody  does  in  a 
similar  case,  he  also  tried  to  solve  the  mystery  from 
without,  carefully  turning  the  letter  on  every  side,  but 
the  inside.  No  clue,  however,  could  be  found,  till  he 
broke  the  ponderous  seal  and  glanced  over  the  contents. 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  880 

In  a  moment  his  decision  was  made.  He  felt  that  no 
one  on  earth  had  now  a  nearer  claim  than  he,  and  it 
was  his  right  to  hasten  to  his  suffering  friend. 

Towards  the  latter  part  of  the  next  day,  a  carriage 
drove  up  to  the  large  gate  of  Graham  Hall,  standing 
expectantly  open,  and  passed  through  into  the  yard. 
As  Polly  had  been  on  the  look-out  all  the  afternoon,  her 
quick  ears  at  once  caught  the  sound.  Glancing  through 
the  window,  her  eyes  confirmed  her  ears,  and  stepping 
out  at  the  back  door,  she  cordially  greeted  Mr.  Sunder- 
land. 

"  I  was  sure  you'd  come,  and  there's  need  enough," 
she  said,  as  she  took  him  into  the  house.  "  Shan't  I  get 
you  some  supper  now  ?  " 

"  No,  Polly.  Let  me  wash  my  hands,  —  right  here  in 
the  kitchen,"  he  added,  as  she  was  about  to  guide  him 
up  stairs.  "  You  did  just  right  to  send  me  that  letter. 
And  how  is  your  patient  now  ?  " 

"  She's  jest  the  same.  She's  had  spells  afore  now, 
but  she's  come  out  of  'em  quick.  She  seems  clean 
worn  out.  Shall  I  tell  her  you've  come  ?  " 

"  Don't  say  a  word  about  me.  Go  and  inquire  if 
she  wants  any  thing,  and  I  will  immediately  follow." 

He  had  at  once  comprehended  her  state,  and  hoped 
to  arouse  her  by  his  sudden  presence.  So  they  went 
up  the  stairs  silently  together,  he  having  made  a  sign  to 
Polly  not  to  speak  on  the  way. 

"  Isn't  there  nothing  in  the  world  you  would  like 
now  ?  "  asked  the  good  woman,  leaving  the  door  ajar. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  replied  Marion,  as  if  it  were  an 
effort  to  speak. 

When  Polly  left  the  room,  he  entered ;  and  as  she  did 
not  notice  him,  he  had  time  to  gaze  upon  her  for  a  mo- 


384  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

ment,  unobserved.  Her  face  was  pale  and  pure  as 
Parian  marble.  Her  lips,  too,  were  almost  colorless, 
her  eye  had  lost  its  fire,  and  the  long  lashes  drooped 
pityingly  upon  her  cheek.  She  did  not  look  up  till  he 
was  just  before  her.  At  sight  of  him,  she  uttered  a  cry 
of  joy,  while  the  faintest  possible  flush  tinged  her 
cheek.  Tenderly  pressing  her  hand,  he  sat  down  beside 
her. 

"  My  poor  sister !  "  he  breathed  in  the  gentlest  tone, 
while  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  "  Believe  me,  my  heart 
has  bled  with  yours.  It  would,  at  this  moment,  gladly 
take  the  whole  weight  of  your  great  sorrow." 

He  spoke  with  so  much  emotion,  that,  for  the  first 
time  for  days,  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  And  as  she 
wept,  she  looked  so  utterly  woe-begone,  so  like  a  deli- 
cate lily  breaking  down  under  the  pitiless  storm,  that 
his  whole  being  was  moved.  That  mute  appeal  was 
irresistible,  and  drawing  nearer,  as  a  brother  might  have 
done,  he  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  simply  say- 
ing*— 

"  My  sister  needs  support  as  well  as  sympathy." 

Sinking  as  she  was  from  exhaustion,  his  tender  min- 
istry was  truly  soothing.  So,  while  his  strong  arm 
encircled  her,  she  closed  her  heavy  eyelids,  and,  like  a 
weary  child,  soon  fell  into  a  light  slumber.  She  h-.id 
been  so  long  stretched  on  the  rack,  that  he  had  feared 
the  setting  in  of  some  acute  disease,  and  was  grateful 
for  this  favorable  indication. 

When  she  awoke,  she  was  evidently  refreshed,  and 
trying  to  smile,  she  said,  — 

"  You  have  already  done  me  good,  and  I  can  release 
you  now." 

"  But  do  you  wish  me  to  say  good-night  so  early  ?  " 


OR,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  38'j 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  did  not  mean  that,"  replied  she,  evidently 
dreading  to  be  again  left  a  prey  to  un solaced  woe. 

"  Then  I  will  soon  return,  and  read  to  you,  if  you 
would  like.  I  am  now  going  to  take  my  supper,  and 
to  send  up  yours." 

"  I  cannot  possibly  eat." 

"Well,  I  will  not  trouble  you  to-night.  But  to-mor- 
row, I  shall  try  the  virtue  of  my  old  authority." 

"  I  dunno  what'll  become  of  her,  if  she  goes  on  so 
without  eating  so  much  as  a  morsel,''  said  Polly,  as  she 
took  in  his  supper. 

"  In  the  morning,  make  up  the  most  tempting  deli- 
cacy in  your  power,  and  I  promise  you  she  shall  eat 
some  of  it." 

"  He's  fit  for  a  pope,"  said  Polly  to  herself,  as  she  left 
the  room.  "  But  I  can  tell  him  he'll  have  a  tough 
match  to  get  her  to  eat.  It's  lucky  I  sent  for  him, 
though,"  added  she,  with  considerable  self-complacency. 

An  hour  later,  when  Polly  was  taking  lights  up  stairs, 
he  followed,  and  placing  a  chair  for  her,  said,  — 

"  Now,  Polly,  I  am  doctor,  and  you,  nurse ;  and  you 
must  sit  there  ready  to  do  my  bidding." 

Then,  placing  his  own  chair  near  the  bed,  he  sat  so 
as  to  shade  Marion  from  the  light.  Choosing  a  quiet 
book  with  the  intention  of  lulling  her  to  sleep,  he  began 
to  read.  One  of  his  auditors  was  soon  nodding  time  to 
him,  her  head  resting  against  the  comfortable  chair  in 
which  he  had  disposed  her.  But  Marion's  eyes  seemed 
to  dilate. 

"  Does  my  reading  disturb  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  But  I  cannot  help  thinking,  and  it  would 
be  a  relief  to  talk  with  you." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  he,  laying  down  the  book  and 
turning  towards  her. 


386  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  I  am  very  rebellious,"  said  she,  looking  earnestly 
into  his  face. 

"  Sometimes  the  wailings  of  sorrow  drown  all  other 
voices  for  a  season." 

"  A  tempest  often  rages  in  my  heart.  And  when 
there  comes  a  lull,  I  am  paralyzed.  But  through  it  all, 
I  have  had  inexpressible  yearnings  for  human  sympathy, 
and  I  thank  God  for  sending  you  to  me." 

"  And  I  will  thank  him  too,  if  I  can  minister  the  small- 
est comfort  to  my  sister." 

"  I  thought  I  had  too  much  pride  to  be  crushed  by 
such  a  blow." 

"  Pride,  Marion,  is  a  poor  support  for  a  wounded 
spirit." 

"  But  you  were  not  expecting  such  weakness." 

«  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

She  hesitated. 

«  Tell  me  all." 

"  Your  letter  did  not  indicate  that  you  supposed  me 
suffering  very  keenly,  and  —  " 

"  And  what  ?  —  Confess  the  whole,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  My  heart  was  broken,"  she  replied,  with  an  outburst 
of  feeling:  "  And  when  your  letter  came,  I  expected 
sympathy,  but — it  seemed  almost  cold." 

"  And  grieved  my  dear  sister  ?  —  Well,  I  can  explain 
it.  The  truth  is,  /  did  not  know  what  to  say.  If  I  of- 
fered condolence,  your  pride  might  be  wounded.  And 
if,  on  the  other  hand,  you  needed  a  tonic,  sympathy 
would  only  aggravate  the  difficulty.  I  did  as  well  as  I 
could,  in  the  dark.  Now  that  I  understand  the  case,  I 
hope  to  do  better.  Certainly  my  heart  was  not  cold." 
Do  you  believe  me  ?  " 

She  tried  to  smile  her  assent 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  gjsj 

"  And  are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Entirely,  Mr.  Sunderland." 

Then,  opening  «  Keble's  Christian  Year,"  he  read 
that  soothing  hymn  for  the  second  Sunday  after  Christ- 
mas, entitled  "  The  Pilgrim's  Song."  Having  finished 
it,  he  impressively  repeated,  — 

"  Thou,  who  didst  sit  on  Jacob's  well 

The  weary  hour  of  noon, 
The  languid  pulses  thou  canst  tell, 

The  nerveless  spirit  tune. 
Thou  from  whose  cross  in  anguish  burst 
The  cry  that  owned  thy  dying  thirst, 
To  thee  we  turn,  our  last  and  first, 

Our  Sun  and  soothing  Moon." 


388  MARION  GRAHAM; 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

"  What  hast  thou  to  do 

With  looking  through  the  lattice-lights  at  me, 
A  poor,  tired,  wandering  singer?  — singing  through 
The  dark,  and  leaning  up  a  cypress-tree  ? 
The  chrism  is  on  thine  head,  —  on  mine,  the  dew,  — 
And  death  must  dig  the  level  where  these  agree." 

IT  was  not  easy  that  night  for  Henry  Sunderland  to 
compose  himself  to  sleep.  Indignation  against  Maurice, 
alternated  with  regret  and  sympathy  for  Marion.  And 
if  we  say  that,  down  in  the  very  depths  of  his  heart,  a 
purpose  had  sprung  up,  which  gave  a  new  light  to  his 
eye,  and  infused  new  energy  into  his  whole  being,  will 
it  prove  any  thing  against  him  —  any  thing  except  that 
he  was  mortal  ? 

"  I  can  wait,"  he  said,  "  months  if  need  be,  but  her 
heart  shall  not  continue  desolate,  if  there  is  power  in 
love  to  quicken  it  into  life  and  happiness." 

He,  too,  the  long  drilled,  sternly  disciplined  man,  — 
was  beginning  to  dream.  He  had  listened  to  that 
syren's  voice,  whose  fascinations  not  the  wisest  can 
withstand  ;  he  had  tasted  of  that  cup,  of  which  not  the 
strongest  can  drink,  without  the  madness  of  inebriation. 

In  the  slumbers  of  the  night,  his  dreamings  continue. 
He  fancies  himself  and  Marion  on  a  fairy  island,  set, 
like  an  emerald,  in  the  bright  blue  sea.  The  softest 
sunshine  smiles  upon  them,  while,  on  every  hand,  the 


OB,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  381> 

most  exquisite  beauty  and  music  fill  their  charmed 
senses.  Tropical  flowers  blossom  along  their  path, 
graceful  and  luxuriant  trees  wave  above  them,  and  the 
perfume-laden  air  fans  their  glowing  cheeks.  But  sud- 
denly the  ground  opens,  and  they  sink  into  its  dark 
bosom. 

Again,  they  float  in  the  blue  ether,  their  wings  glis- 
tening in  the  unclouded  light.  But  in  a  moment,  Ma- 
rion falls  to  earth,  and  he,  bending  over  her  with 
gentlest  ministries,  is  unable  to  heal  her  bleeding 
wounds. 

While,  however,  his  visions  were  thus  disturbed,  the 
wing  of  slumber  rested  softly  on  Marion's  brow,  and  for 
many  hours  she  was  unconscious  of  life's  burden. 


Such  a  nice  dish  of  jelly  as  Polly  had  prepared !  but 
with  precious  little  faith  that  any  of  it  would  go  in  the 
intended  direction. 

"  She's  bad  in  a  different  way  this  morning,  indeed 
she  does  nothing  but  weep.  I  carried  this  dish  in,  but 
she  sent  it  straight  out." 

"  Take  it  back,  and  I  will  come  with  you." 

Having  placed  the  waiter  on  the  little  table,  she  with- 
drew, but  leaving  the  door  slightly  ajar,  she  applied  her 
eye  to  the  crack,  curious  to  see  how  he  was  going  to 
accomplish  what  she  deemed  impossible. 

After  exchanging  "  good  morning,"  he  placed  the 
table  beside  Marion. 

"  I  cannot,  Mr.  Sunderland  ;  it  would  choke  me." 

Her  nervous  system  was  so  shattered,  that  there 
was  no  other  way  but  to  use  kind  authority  as  he 
would  with  a  child.  So,  taking  out  some  of  the  jellv 


390  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

into  a  saucer,  he  knelt  down  before  her,  saying  in  a 
gentle  but  decided  tone,  — 

"  I  have  come  all  this  way  to  prescribe  for  you,  Ma- 
rion. And  now  I  am  going  to  feed  you  myself." 

Tears  were  starting  in  her  eyes,  but  without  noticing 
them,  he  put  a  spoonful  to  her  mouth. 

"  Now,  take  this  —  and  this  —  and  this.  You  will 
find  it  very  nice,  for  it  is  one  of  Polly's  extras" 

Here  he  caught  a  smothered  laugh  outside,  but  as 
Marion  did  not  observe  it,  he  continued,  —  "A  little 
more.  —  There,  that  will  do.  I  don't  think  it  would  be 
safe  to  take  any  more  at  present." 

A  faint  smile  stole  over  Marion's  face.  It  was  not 
hard  to  submit  to  such  sway. 

"  Now  you  are  to  promise  that  you  will  take  this,  or 
something  as  good,  three  times  every  day,  —  to  begin 
with." 

Having  some  knowledge  of  his  persistence,  after 
a  little  hesitation,  she  gave  the  required  pledge.  Here- 
upon Polly  stole  down  stairs,  saying  to  herself,  — 

"  I  never  saw  the  like  of  him.  I  declare  he  beats  all 
for  getting  his  own  way.  Wasn't  it  lucky  though,  that 
I  sent  for  him  ?  But  she,  poor  thing,  don't  suspect 
nothing,  and  she  -won't  be  none  the  wiser  for  me,  I  can 
tell  her."  And  big  with  her  important  secret,  and  its 
wonderful  effects,  she  returned  to  her  kitchen  duties. 

"  Marion,  I  think  I  must  go  to  Carrisford  to-day." 

Was  there,  after  all,  so  much  human  nature  about 
Mr.  Sunderland,  that  he  wished  to  make  her  sorry  first, 
that  he  might  make  her  glad  afterwards  ?  At  any  rate, 
his  sudden  announcement  brought  a  quick  cloud  over 
her  face. 

"  J  find  you  have  something  of  a  slow  fever.     And 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  391 

though  I  flatter  myself  I  am  a  pretty  good  nurse,  yet 
you  need  one  still  more  skilful.  So  I  think  of  bringing 
my  dear  mother  to  take  care  of  you,  and  if  possible, 
we  shall  be  here  day  after  to-morrow.  Remember  your 
promise,  and  try  to  keep  up  good  courage.  God  com- 
fort you,  my  sister ! " 

On  the  third  day,  towards  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon, Marion  caught  the  sound  of  wheels  entering  the 
yard,  and  was  soon  folded  in  Mrs.  Sunderland's  em- 
brace. 

"  I  was  allers  considered  real  good  in  nursing  fever, 
and  such  like,"  said  Polly  to  Mrs.  Sunderland, "  but  when 
it  comes  to  fretting  troubles,  I  dunno  nothing  what  to 
do."  "  So  I'm  real  thankful  you  could  come,  for  I  can 
see  Miss  Marion  sets  a  store  by  you.  And  I  hope 
you'll  give  me  directions  jest  as  if  you  were  in  yer  own 
house." 

The  next  day,  Mr.  Sunderland  returned  to  the  lonely 
parsonage.  Resolution  it  required  to  resist  the  wishes 
of  his  heart,  —  to  resist  the  silent,  unconscious  pleading 
of  those  sorrowful  eyes.  But  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  this  was  best,  and  at  the  appointed  time,  he  tore 
himself  away. 

As  Marion's  malady  was  chiefly  mental,  Mrs.  Sun- 
derland was  obliged  to  resort  to  every  possible  appli- 
ance to  meet  the  difficulty.  But  her  kindness  and  her 
skill  were  alike  unfailing,  and  she  was  rewarded  by  see- 
ing an  evident,  though  very  slow  improvement  in  her 
patient. 

Meantime  her  son  was  a  changed  being.  The  hid- 
den fountain,  which  he  had  long  attempted  to  choke 
up,  now  gushed  forth  in  a  clear,  sweet,  sparkling,  per- 


392  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

petual  stream.  A  new  impetus  impelled  him,  and 
though  he  looked  forward  to  months  that  might  inter- 
vene, yet  at  length  he  should  reach  the  blissful  goal. 


The  last  evening  in  November  found  Mr.  Sunder- 
land  in  a  fit  of  deep  musing.  A  letter  lay  upon  his 
study  table  which  it  was  evident  had  moved  him 
strongly.  While  he  slowly  paces  back  and  forth, we  will 
venture  to  read  it. 

"  MY  DEAR  SON,  —  I  see  not  but  that  Marion's  health 
is  restored,  so  far  at  least  as  it  can  be  under  the  present 
adverse  circumstances.  She  displays  the  most  affect- 
ing docility,  readily  complying  with  every  request  — 
walking,  riding,  or  doing  any  thing  I  propose  to  her. 
But,  Henry,  the  spring  is  broken,  the  motive  power 
gone.  It  is  saddening  to  see  her  thus  unlike  herself. 
Tears  often  roll  down  her  pale  cheeks,  and  sighs  escape 
her  when  I  am  sure  she  is  not  aware  of  it. 

1  fully  approved  your  purpose  of  waiting.  But  now 
I  doubt  whether  every  thing  that  can  be  done  to  arouse 
and  stimulate,  ought  not  to  be  done  immediately.  I 
am  not  confident,  but  I  give  you  my  impression.  If 
any  one  has  power  to  kindle  a  new  flame  in  her  deso- 
late heart,  it  is  you.  The  only  question  is  one  of  time. 
Suppose  you  come  and  judge  for  yourself." 

"  So  soon ! "  asked  reason.  His  heart  whispered, 
"  Why  not  ?  "  Then  reason  suggested,  "  Would  it  not 
be  more  prudent  to  wait  ?  "  But  his  blood  was  stirred, 
and  could  not  so  easily  be  calmed.  "  You  had  better 
see  for  yourself,"  urged  feeling.  "  If  you  go  undecided, 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  393 

you  will  not  have  strength  to  resist  temptation,"  re- 
sponded reason.  "  I  will  go,  and  leave  the  result  for 
careful  consideration  when  there,"  said  Mr.  Sunderland, 
taking  the  decision  into  his  own  hands.  And  thus  the 
reasonable,  strong-willed  man,  was  borne  away  by  the 
deep  current  of  emotion. 

It  seemed  to  Mr.  Sunderland  that  he  had  never  seen 
Marion  so  lovely  as  she  now  was  in  her  pensive  gentle- 
ness. And  when  his  sudden  presence  kindled  a  smile 
on  her  pale  face,  all  his  purposes  of  "  careful  consider- 
ation" vanished  like  mist  in  the  sunshine.  Her  sub- 
dued, appealing  manner,  seemed  to  say,  "  Protect  me 
from  further  suffering."  And  he  yearned  instantly  to 
spread  over  her  the  wing  of  his  affecjion.  In  short,  the 
case  turned  out  precisely  as  reason  had  predicted.  He 
had  placed  himself  within  the  sphere  of  her  attractions, 
and  he  could  not  resist  temptation.  The  dam  was 
broken  down,  —  the  stream  swept  onward. 

Their  intercourse  had  always  been  free  and  fraternal ; 
but  from  extreme  delicacy,  he  now  unconsciously  as- 
sumed a  reserve,  entirely  foreign  to  his  usual  brotherly 
air.  They  were  sitting  in  silence  one  evening  by  the 
cheerful  fireside.  Mr.  Sunderland  had  felt  painfully 
embarrassed,  by  the  frequent  failure  of  his  attempts  to 
introduce  that  subject  which  so  fully  possessed  his 
mind.  Whenever  he  had  approached  it,  an  unaccount- 
able hesitation  had  withheld  him.  But  he  resolved  to 
open  his  heart  before  they  parted  for  the  night.  Uncon- 
scious of  his  thoughts,  Marion  broke  the  silence. 

"  I  would  prefer  a  severe  reproof  to  such  continued 
coldness." 

«  Coldness ! " 


394  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

"  Yes,  coldness  !  I  know  I  have  wearied  out  your 
patience,  but  I  cannot  bear  your  displeasure." 

He  struggled  for  composure,  while  she  continued,  — 

"  Are  you  seriously  offended  with  me,  my  dear 
brother?" 

"  O  Marion !  how  entirely  you  misjudge  me !  But 
I  must  beg  you.  do  not  any  longer  call  me  brother." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  inquiring,  sorrowful  ex- 
pression. 

"  Can  you  not,  then,  understand  why  I  am  now 
pained  at  that  appellation,  which  I  once  proposed  ?  " 

And  fixing  his  love-lighted  eye  upon  her,  he  gazed  as 
if  he  would  read  her  soul.  There  could  be  no  mistak- 
ing that  language.  And  that  she  understood  it,  the 
instant  change  in  her  manner  made  evident  Beginning 
with  the  faintest  blush,  her  color  deepened  and  spread, 
till  her  face  and  neck  were  entirely  suffused. 

"  Can  you  blame  me,  Marion,  for  coveting  a  dearer 
relation  ?  " 

A  tremor  passed  over  her.  And  bowing  her  head,  the 
tears  dropped  fast. 

"Have  I  then  offended  you?  Forgive  my  abrupt- 
ness, but  indulge  me  this  once.  If  your  heart  was 
buried  in  the  grave,  the  case  would  be  different,  but  can 
you  reproach  me  for  trying  to  win  you  from  such  a 
past?  Whether  I  have  been  willing  to  sacrifice  my 
own  feelings,  I  need  not  say.  But,  Marion,  I  am  not 
willing  that  your  life  should  be  passed  in  vain  regrets  — 
that  the  opulence  of  your  heart  should  be  expended 
on  one,  who,  by  his  inconstancy,  has  proved  himself 
unworthy.  You  have  no  object  claiming  your  care. 
You  are  without  father  or  mother,  brother  or  sister.  I 
am  presuming  enough  to  aspire  to  be  all  these,  and 

tHOff,  to  YOU." 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  395 

His  allusions  to  the  cold  return  with  which  her 
boundless  affection  had  met,  aroused  her  pride.  And 
now,  his  gentle,  loving  words  fell  like  balm  upon  her 
bruised  spirit.  He  saw  his  advantage,  and  con- 
tinued, — 

"  He  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  has 
seen  fit  to  lay  upon  you  a  heavy  burden.  No  language 
can  express  the  sympathy  I  have  felt  with  you  in  your 
prolonged  and  bitter  trials.  Gladly  would  I  have  suf- 
fered every  pang  in  your  stead.  I  have  yearned  to 
wipe  away  your  tears,  to  win  your  love,  and  to  take 
you  forever  to  my  heart.  But  these  repeated,  and  some- 
times almost  irrepressible  yearnings,  I  have  been  forced 
sternly  to  deny.  And  often,  I  have  not  dared  even  to 
attempt  consolation,  lest  my  own  feelings  should  break 
through  the  barriers  I  had  raised  against  them,  and 

thus  cause  you  pain. Those  barriers,  Marion,  have 

been  removed  by  another.  I  have  now  the  right  to 
love  you  —  the  right,  if  I  can,  to  win  your  love." 

"  But  my  heart  is  crushed  and  desolate." 

"  For  this  very  reason,  I  long  to  take  it  into  the 
warmth  and  sunshine  of  my  own." 

As  he  spoke,  he  tenderly  took  her  hand ;  but  ob- 
serving a  slight  shade  flit  over  her  face,  he  instantly 
resigned  it,  saying, — 

"  Pardon  me.  I  will  venture  upon  no  more  such  lib- 
erties, until  your  heart  fully  consents  to  them.  But  you 
are  weary,  and  I  will  not  tax  you  longer  to-night." 

It  was  impossible  for  Marion  to  be  unmoved  by  his 
delicate  consideration  for  her  feelings  ;  —  impossible  to 
resist  his  peculiar  spell.  When,  however,  she  retired 
to  the  solitude  of  her  own  chamber,  there  was  a  reac- 
tion. With  strange  tenacity,  her  heart  still  clung  to 

18  « 


396  MARION  GRAHAM; 

Maurice.  And  though  she  was  conscious  of  a  strong 
attachment  to  Henry  Sunderland,  and  felt  that  it  would 
pain  her  inexpressibly  to  lose  his  friendship,  yet  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  think  of  a  change  in  their 
relation,  without  a  shudder. 

He  did  not  resume  the  subject  at  once,  but  from  a 
thousand  unconscious  signs  and  tokens,  she  had  a  per- 
petual revelation  of  his  feelings.  When,  at  length,  he 
again  ventured  to  plead  his  cause,  she  tried  to  express 
her  painful  shrinking  from  the  subject.  But  the  shock 
her  sensitive  nature  had  received,  made  her  weak  and 
irresolute  ;  and  she  knew  not  how  to  meet  his  exhaust- 
less  arguments,  except  with  silent  tears.  Besides,  she 
was  so  much  accustomed  to  respect  his  authority,  and 
to  yield  to  his  will  in  little  matters,  that  she  found  her- 
self unequal  to  the  effort  of  prolonged  resistance  now. 
In  this  way,  his  advantage  gradually  increased.  If  he 
did  not  read  her  with  his  wonted  accuracy,  something 
must  be  pardoned  him  for  his  present  excitement. 
Since  he  had  dared  to  open  the  floodgates,  the  full 
stream  rushed  forth  in  one  impetuous  torrent.  He  cer- 
tainly did  not  wish  her  to  become  his  wife  against  her 
will,  but  he  was  resolutely  bent  on  conquering  that 
will.  For  he  had  fully  persuaded  himself,  and  that 
not  without  apparent  reason,  that  the  current  of  her 
being  must  be  speedily  directed  into  another  channel, 
or  she  would  be  a  wreck.  He  therefore  brought  the 
whole  force  of  his  logic  and  his  love  to  bear  upon  her. 
But  he  did  it  with  so  much  delicacy  as  to  quiet  her  first 
alarms.  And  at  the  same  time,  he  made  himself  indis- 
pensable to  her  in  so  many  ways,  that  she  was  restless 
out  of  his  presence. 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  397 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

"  Can  it  be  right  to  give  what  I  can  give  ? 
To  let  thee  sit  beneath  the  fall  of  tears 
As  salt  as  mine,  and  hear  the  sighing  years 
Re-sighing  on  my  lips  renunciative 
Through  those  infrequent  smiles,  which  fail  to  live 
For  all  thy  adjurations?  " 

"  I  FEAR  I  have  not  the  faculty  of  winning,"  said 
Henry  Sunderland  one  day  to  his  mother. 

"  You  know  the  proverb, '  Faint  heart  — '  But  I  think 
I  must  encourage  you  by  telling  tales  out  of  school. 
Only  yesterday,  something  occurred  which  led  me  to 
ask  Marion,  '  Do  you  think  Henry  wanting  in  any  of 
those  traits  essential  to  woman's  happiness  ? '  « Oh, 
no!'  she  exclaimed  with  warmth.  '  He  is  one  of  the 
noblest  characters  I  ever  knew,  and  deserves  the  best 
woman  in  the  land.'  '  Then  why ?  '  '  Simply  be- 
cause of  the  past.  And  my  crushed  heart  is  not  worthy 
his  acceptance.' " 

That  same  evening,  he  stood  leaning  thoughtfully 
against  the  mantel-piece,  while  Marion  sat  sewing  upon 
the  sofa,  which  was  drawn  up  cozily  before  the  fire.  A 
deep  sigh  escaping  him,  she  looked  up  as  if  inquiring 
the  cause. 

"  You  know  it  already,"  said  he  in  a  mournful  tone, 
sitting  down  beside  her.  "  It  is  because  you  are  afraid 
to  trust  that  little  hand  in  mine." 


398  MARION  GRAHAM: 

She  hesitatingly  shook  her  head. 

"  If  not  afraid,  still  you  are  unwilling." 

"  Not  exactly  that,"  replied  she,  moved  by  his  sadness. 

"What  is  it  then?" 

"  It  is  not  worth  giving,  unless  my  whole  heart  goes 
with  it." 

« And  that ?" 

"  Cannot  be,"  said  she  sorrowfully. 

"  But  suppose  I  covet  the  hand,  even  with  a  divided 
heart,  hoping  and  believing  that  in  time,  I  shall  be  able 
to  heal  its  wounds,  and  fill  it  with  fresh  happiness." 

"  Your  affection,  then,  is  most  unselfish  and  gener- 
ous," replied  she,  while  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  selfish  enough ;  —  but  let  that  pass  now.  Cir- 
cumstances make  me  a  modest  suitor.  I  can  rejoice  in 
the  free  gift  of  your  hand,  with  just  so  much  of  your 
heart  as  it  is  in  your  power  to  bestow.  On  this  condi- 
tion, Marion,  will  you  not  trust  it  with  me  ?  " 

One  moment  she  paused ;  —  then,  meeting  his  implor- 
ing gaze,  as  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she  timidly  laid  her 
hand  in  his.  How  did  his  strong  heart  beat,  as  he  said 
slowly,  "  For  life  !  "  and  tremblingly  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

The  deed  was  done  —  they  were  betrothed.  And 
now  he  might  lay  aside  those  iron  restraints,  which  had 
so  chafed  his  ardent  spirit.  Clasping  her  to  his  heart, 
he  gave  full  expression  to  the  tenderness  of  his  rich  na- 
ture. To  him,  the  cup  was  full  and  sparkling.  It  con- 
tained the  very  elixir  of  life.  To  her,  it  was  a  mingled 
draught.  The  same  strange  tremor  that  had  seized  her 
when  he  first  named  the  subject,  again  crept  over  her, 
and  her  lips  half  turned  from  the  sweet  chalice  he  held 
to  them.  But  as  she  thought  of  his  tried  affection, 


OR,    HIGH  Ell   THAN    HAPPINESS.  399 

burning  on  so  long  unfuelled ;  as  she  gauged  the  depth  of 
the  fountain,  ever  flowing  for  the  laving  of  her  weary 
nature,  her  soul  was  stirred.  It  was  sweet  thus  to  be 
loved,  and  she  began  to  feel  that  she  could  give  more 
than  he  had  asked.  Looking  into  the  transparent  mir- 
ror of  her  soul,  he  saw  the  glow  he  had  kindled,  and  his 
rapture  was  complete. 

A  few  paradisal  days  flew  by,  he,  on  the  mount  of 
Blessedness,  —  she,  in  the  vale  of  Peace.  Then  he  felt 
that  it  was  time  the  sweet  chains  should  be  riveted. 

"  Having  granted  so  much,"  he  said  persuasively  one 
day,  "  you  must  make  your  gift  complete.  I  shall  not 
rest  till  you  are  my  wedded  wife." 

"  I  entreat  you  not  to  name  that  subject  yet ;  you 
must  wait,  certainly,  one  year." 

"  Never,  dearest,"  replied  he,  with  emphasis.  "  That 
would  not  be  within  the  bounds  of  possibility." 

"  Six  months  then,  at  least." 

"  And  leave  you  here  alone,  a  prey  to  blue  and  black 
spirits  ?  No,  Marion,  not  while  I  am  vain  enough  to 
believe  that  I  have  power  to  charm  them  away.  Not 
one  month  even  can  I  wait.  In  this,  I  shall  be  an  ab- 
solute autocrat.  I  go  home  to-morrow  to  make  arrange- 
ments. In  a  fortnight  I  return,  and  then,  the  irrevoca- 
ble bond  shall  unite  us." 

"  Irrevocable  ?  "  said  she,  shuddering. 

"  Do  you  wish  our  agreement  annulled  ?  "  asked  he, 
with  a  searching  gaze. 

''  Oh  no,  —  but  —  but "  —  and  feeling  that  it  was  of 
no  use,  —  that  his  will  would  certainly  triumph,  she 
ceased  speaking,  and  wearily  laid  her  head  on  his 
shoulder. 


iOO  MARION    (illAHAM: 

"  You  consent  then,"  said  he,  tenderly  kissing  her 
pale  cheek. 

"  It  is  useless  for  me  to  object,  —  though  Lenora 
would  say  I  was  pretty  well  tyrannized  over." 

"  Nay !  you  shall  not  complain  of  my  despotism.  I 
will  give  you  ample  time  for  consideration,  and  to-mor- 
row you  shall  tell  me  your  decision." 

When  Marion  was  alone,  thoughts  and  feelings 
chased  each  other  in  rapid  succession.  For  a  long  time 
Henry  had  given  up  his  mother,  —  and  she  knew  he 
would  not  consent  to  take  her  back  with  him,  unless 
she  would  go  too.  Besides,  she  was  conscious  of  lean- 
ing upon  him,  and  she  dreaded  the  dreary  loneliness  of 
a  separation.  She  could  not,  it  is  true,  conquer  her  in- 
stinctive repugnance  at  the  thought  of  so  speedy  a 
union,  but  she  felt  that  it  would  be  ungenerous  to  him 
and  to  his  mother,  as  well  as  unhappy  for  herself,  to 
yield  to  it.  Thus,  the  fates  seemed  to  decide  the  case 
for  her. 

The  next  day,  when  he  asked  for  her  conclusion,  she 
answered,  — 

"  Have  it  all  your  own  way,  Henry." 


After  Mr.  Sunderland's  departure,  a  weight  again  fell 
upon  her  spirits.  She  felt  irresolute  and  uncertain,  and 
longed  for  the  tranquillity  which  his  strong  will  and 
settled  convictions  inspired.  So,  many  as  were  her  mis- 
givings with  regard  to  the  future,  the  days  of  his  ab- 
sence trod  on  tardy  feet  to  her,  as  well  as  to  him.  They 
were  cheered,  however,  by  a  frequent  interchange  of 
letters. 


OH,    HIGHElt    THAN    HAPPINESS.  401 

"  If  I  cannot  help  exulting  in  my  happiness,  dearest 
Marion,  it  is  not  from  the  lack  of  a  full  appreciation  of 
your  feelings,  or  of  the  tenderest  sympathy  with  them 
But  I  anticipate  the  blessedness  of  wiping  away  every 
tear  that  may  dim  the  light  of  those  dear  eyes.  I  be- 
lieve that  my  love  will  in  time  penetrate  to  the  depths 
of  your  soul,  —  that  it  will  yet  call  forth  a  gushing  tide 
of  the  sweet  waters  of  human  affection,  which  shall  all 
flow  into  my  garden,  and  cause  to  spring  up  there 
beautiful  leaves  and  blossoms  in  the  richest  profusion 
and  variety.  I  sometimes  fear  my  attachment  is  idola- 
trous, and  then  my  heart  sinks  with  the  dread  of 
chastisement.  The  sudden  change  in  my  earthly  des- 
tiny has  given  to  my  emotions  a  wild  ecstasy  that  is  not 
safe,  and  which  I  trust  time  wTill  moderate.  But  while 
my  love  for  you  is  thus  boundless,  I  am  covetous  of  a 
full  return.  Not  immediately  —  I  will  try  to  wait  — 
but  I  shall  never  be  content,  till  I  have  taught  you  to 
return  without  measure  what  is  given  without  measure. 
You  see  how  bold  your  modest  suitor  has  grown.  But 
you  must  remember  that  he  has  been  making  invest- 
ments in  your  affection,  and  that,  should  you  prove 
bankrupt,  it  would  be  worse  for  him  than  if  he  had  re- 
mained a  beggar,  outside  your  gate.  I  conceal  nothing 
of  my  expectations.  It  is  better  that  you  should  know 
beforehand  how  exacting  I  shall  one  day  become.  But 
I  have  looked  into  your  heart  enough  to  feel  assured 
that  its  riches  are  inexhaustible,  and  if  I  can  only  once 
become  its  full  possessor,  I  shall  have  no  fears  of  im- 
poverishment May  our  mutual  affection,  as  I  trust  I 
can  even  now  call  it,  elevate  us  nearer  and  nearer  to 
Him  who  is  the  fountain  of  all  love  ! 

Do  you  miss  me,  Marion  ?    Tell  me  that  you  count 


402  MA1UON   GRAHAM  ; 

the  days  before  my  return,  as  I  do  the  hours  and  min- 
utes." 

"  I  will  not  attempt,  dear  Henry,  to  describe  the  emo- 
tions awakened  by  your  letter.  But,  In  the  language 
of  another,  I  can  truly  exclaim,  — 

'  What  can  I  give  thee  back,  O  liberal 
And  princely  giver —  who  hast  brought  the  gold 
And  purple  of  thine  heart,  unstained,  untold, 
And  laid  them  on  the  outside  of  the  wall, 
In  unexpected  largesse  ?     Am  I  cold, 
Ungrateful,  that  for  these  most  manifold 
High  gifts,  I  render  nothing  back  at  all  ? 
Not  so.     Not  cold !  —  but  very  poor  instead  ! 
Ask  God  who  knows  !  for  frequent  tears  have  run 
The  colors  from  my  life,  and  left  so  dead 
And  pale  a  stuff,  it  is  not  fitly  done 
To  give  the  same  as  pillow  to  thy  head.' 

And  yet,  poor  as  I  am,  since  you  ask  it,  —  ah1  that  1 
have  to  give  is  freely,  gratefully  yours. 

Shall  I  avow  that  you  can  scarcely  count  the  hours 
or  the  minutes  of  our  separation,  with  more  impatience 
than  I  ?  In  this,  I  am  a  wonder  to  myself.  But  in 
your  absence,  my  struggle  with  that  dark  shadow  which 
has  fallen  around  my  path,  is  perpetual.  And  some- 
times a  strange  presage  of  ill  broods  over  me,  which 
only  fastens  itself  the  more  closely  with  every  attempt 
to  banish  it.  At  such  times,  the  thought  of  being 
bound  by  irrevocable  vows,  even  to  you,  dear  Henry, 
makes  me  shudder.  All  this  because  you  are  away, 
for  my  sufferings  have  rendered  me  weak  and  childish." 


OH,    HHJHKIl   THAN    HAPPINKSS.  403 


CHAPTER     XXXIII. 

'  In  the  room  I  stood  up  blindly,  and  my  burning  heart  within, 
Seemed  to  seethe  and  fuse  my  senses,  till  they  ran  on  all  sides,  darkening, 
And  scorched,  weighed,  like  melted  metal,  round  my  t'wt  that  stood  therein." 

IT  was  a  clear,  cold  day.  The  windows  were  hung 
with  shining  pendants,  while  an  occasional  jewel  glit- 
tered on  the  naked  arms  of  the  tr^es.  Marion  sat  at 
her  window,  gazing  at  the  noble  elms,  the  loved  com- 
panions of  her  childhood  and  youth.  She  traced  their 
outline  against  the  azure  pillars  on  which  they  seemed 
to  lean,  and  listened  to  the  solemn  wind  as  it  swelled 
and  died  away  among  their  branches,  like  the  surging 
waves  upon  the  sea-shore.  In  her  musings,  time  ap- 
peared like  a  phantom,  and  earthly  joys  and  sorrows 
faded  into  misty  shadows.  The  spiritual  world  seemed 
to  surround  her,  as  the  only  world  of  realities,  and 
eternity  to  stretch  in  dim  vista  before  her  vision.  She 
looked  into  the  infinite  depths  of  the  blue  ether,  and 
thought  how  soon  all  that  now  moved  her  would  be 
but  as  a  dream  when  it  is  past.  What  mattered  it, 
then,  that  she  was  to  become  a  bride,  even  while  stand- 
ing by  the  open  grave  of  her  yet  unburied  love  ?  She 
had  not  deceived  him  who  sought  her,  and  why  should 
she  shrink  from  a  shelter  within  his  enfolding  arms  ? 
Yet  while  she  thus  reasoned,  that  same  ceaseless,  con- 
suming regret  forced  bitterest  drops  from  her  eyes,  and 
it  was  only  in  her  supplications  to  Heaven  that  tran- 
quillity was  restored. 

The  time  for  the  nuptial  ceremony,  which  was  fixed 


404  MAI: ION  CIIAIIAM: 

at  eleven,  had  now  arrived.  Marion  appeared  in  a  sim- 
ple travelling-dress,  while  her  face  wore  a  look  of  tran- 
quil resolve.  Mr.  Sunderland's  fervent,  "  God  bless 
you!"  as  he  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm,  deeply 
moved  her.  And  when  it  came  her  turn  to  reply  to  the 
significant  question,  —  "  Wilt  thou  ?  "  —  her  unhesitat- 
ing and  distinct  response  sent  a  nameless  thrill  through 
the  heart  of  him  to  whom  her  troth  was  now  so  sol- 
emnly pledged. 

The  wedding  scene  was  over.  Mrs.  Sunderland  re- 
mained in  conversation  with  Mr.  Morton,  while  Marion 
passed  into  her  favorite  little  room. 

"  I  will  not  intrude  long,"  said  Henry,  following  her, 
"  as  I  must  complete  my  packing.  But  I  cannot  deny 
myself  one  moment.  I  wish  I  could  express  my  sense 
of  happiness,  in  feeling  that  no  mortal  power  can  now 
part  us.  Yes,  dear  Marion,  you  are  all  my  own,  —  the 
exclusive  possession  I  have  so  long  coveted.  And 
God's  universe  holds  not  a  richer  man." 

"  I  did  not  dream  you  could  be  so  extravagant,"  said 
she,  playfully  putting  her  hand  over  his  mouth.  "  I  am 
too  poor,  to  make  you  feel  so  rich.  You  may,  per- 
chance, soon  cease  glorying  in  your  supposed  treasure. 
Besides,  it  is  not  quite  safe,  dear  Henry." 

"  Do  not  conjure  up  any  of  those  dismal  phantasms. 
From  this  hour  I  bid  them  all  defiance.  Hidden  in  my 
heart,  no  harm  shall  come  to  you.  I  thought  my  affec- 
tion was  boundless  before,  but  since  all  restraint  has 
been  removed,  I  find  myself  a  very  prodigal  in  love." 

And  in  the  transports  of  a  new-made  husband,  his 
affection  poured  itself  out  in  the  fondest  endearments, 
while  she,- — who  can  tell  what  passed  within  her 
heart? 


OK,    HIGHER    THAN    HAl'PINESS.  405 

"  Do  not  look  grave,  dearest,  so  almost  sorrowful.  Is 
not  this  my  right?  Consider  for  how  much  time  I 
have  compensation  to  make.  I  may  well  be  intoxicated 
with  these  first  sparkling  draughts.  As  I  drink  deeper 
of  the  delicious  wine,  my  outward  emotion  will  be 
moderated.  But  I  must  hasten,  though  to  leave  you, 
even  for  a  moment,  seems  like  exiling  myself  from  Par- 
adise." And  he  tore  himself  away. 

Marion  sat  where  he  had  left  her,  her  head  resting  on 
her  hand,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  bright  mass  of  glow- 
ing coal.  What  sees  she  there,  that  the  old,  fearful 
shudder,  yet  tenfold  aggravated,  now  coldly  creeps  over 
her  ?  Alas !  the  dire  spectre  is  not  laid.  Slowly  the 
misty  form  arises.  As  she  gazes,  it  grows  larger  and 
more  defined,  till  at  length  it  looms  up  before  her,  a  ter- 
rible, measureless,  shadowy  phantom,  covering  her  whole 
horizon. 

Suddenly  the  bell  is  violently  rung,  and,  without  any 
waiting  for  the  response,  the  front  door  is  opened.  The 
door  of  her  room  had  been  left  ajar,  and  her  straining 
eyes  are  fastened  on  it ;  for  a  sure  presentiment  tells 
her  who  will  enter  there. 

Eager  footsteps  were  echoed  along  the  hall,  and,  in  a 
shorter  time  than  it  has  taken  to  describe  the  scene,  the 
door  was  pushed  open,  while  with  an  air  of  strange  ex- 
citement, Maurice  Vinton  rushed  in.  Marion  started 
to  her  feet,  but  her  white  lips  essayed  in  vain  to  form 
a  sound.  He  looked  searchingly  into  her  face  with  a 
gaze  which  asked,  "  Do  you  love  me  still  ?  "  And  what 
did  that  pallid  face  reply  ? 

Pardon  for  her !  —  She  was  but  the  bride  of  an  hour ;  — 
she  had  no  time  to  control  its  expression.  The  sorrow- 
ing, straggling,  yet  triumphant  love  of  years  was  plainly 


406  MARION    GKAHAM  ; 

written  there.  He  read,  and  without  the  exchange  of  a 
single  word,  clasped  her  passionately  to  his  bosom. 

It  was,  with  him,  a  moment  of  delirious  bliss,  in  which 
the  sorrows  of  a  life-time  were  compensated  by  that,  his 
fond,  his  final  embrace  of  her  whom  he  had  never,  for 
one  moment,  ceased  to  love.  But  what  was  it  to  her  ? 
What,  save  a  fearful  mingling  of  ecstasy  and  woe  ? 
Her  whole  being  was  thrilled  by  the  certainty  of  his  un- 
changing love,  but  with  it  was  blended  the  despairing 
anguish  of  knowing  that  it  came  too  late.  Her  senses 
failed,  her  reason  staggered,  her  strength  was  paralyzed. 
She  felt  his  burning  kisses  on  her  lips,  —  she  felt  that 
she  was  his,  —  heart  and  soul,  and  yet,  —  oh  misery !  — 
she  was  another's  wife !  But,  in  the  bewildering  ecstasy, 
in  the  overwhelming  anguish,  in  the  utter  helplessness 
of  that  awful  moment,  she  did  not,  nay,  she  could  not 
break  from  his  enfolding  arms. 

The  door  opened.  The  unconscious  bridegroom  en- 
tered. Alas!  alas!  what  time  can  wash  away  the 
memory  of  that  scene  ? 

Marion  tore  herself  from  her  lover's  embrace,  and, 
standing  white  and  rigid  as  a  statue,  said  in  distinct 
tones,  that  struck  like  a  death-knell  on  the  listener's 
ear,  — 

"  Mr.  Sunderland,  you  have  killed  me." 

Then  turning  to  the  speechless  Maurice,  "'  I  am  his 
irifc.  O  God,  pity  me !  " 

And  this  was  Henry  Sunderland's  introduction  to  one 
for  whom  he  had  striven  and  prayed  as  for  an  own 
brother.  This  was  the  first  interview  of  two  men,  as 
peerless  in  honor  and  high  nobility  of  soul,  as  God  ever 
made.  Marion,  may  that  loving  heart  forgive  those 
poisoned  words!  Uttered  in  the  madness  of  frenzy, 
they  have  drank  up  the  life-blood  of  his  spirit. 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  407 

An  awful  silence  followed,  in  which  the  three  stood 
transfixed  as  by  the  day  of  doom.  Presently  Henry  ob- 
served that  Marion  was  about  to  fall.  Taking  her  in 
his  arms,  he  carried  her  up  stairs,  and,  laying  her  on  the 
bed,  committed  her  to  his  mother's  care.  Then,  return- 
ing, he  took  the  arm  of  his  fellow  in  suffering,  and  led 
h'm  into  the  library. 

From  the  heights  of  bliss,  Maurice  had,  in  an  instant 
been  plunged  into  the  depths  of  misery.  But  for  the 
new  principle  implanted  in  his  being,  we  cannot  tell  of 
what  violence  he  might  not  have  been  guilty  in  that 
moment  of  maddening  revelation.  Now,  although  stand- 
ing in  the  presence  of  him  who  had  wrecked  his  earthly 
happiness,  his  passion  was  under  entire  control. 

When  seated  together,  Mr.  Sunderland  grasped  his 
hand,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Forgive,  if  you  can,  and  pity  me !  My  misery  is 
greater  than  yours.  I  could  have  died  for  her  sake,  — 
but  alas,  I  have  « killed '  her." 

For  an  hour  they  sat  there  mutually  unveiling  their 
hearts.  And  when  each  had  given  his  own  recital,  they 
bowed  together  before  the  infinite  Father. 

"  Poor  Marion ! "  said  Mr.  Sunderland,  in  a  fresh 
burst  of  sorrow,  as  they  rose  from  their  knees.  "  How 
madly  I  longed  to  make  her  mine  !  And  now,  I  would 
cheerfully  lay  down  my  life  to  restore  her  freedom.  But 
such  regrets  are  useless.  It  will,  however,  be  some  al- 
leviation to  her  tortured  heart,  to  learn  your  story." 

"  But  is  it  not  better  that  she  should  still  believe  me 
guilty  of  neglect  and  baseness  ?  " 

"  Xo,  dear  brother.  She  must  know  the  truth.  And 
it  is  my  express  desire  that  you  would  write  her  a  full 
account  of  your  unhappy  misunderstanding." 


408  MARION  GRAHAM; 

Entering  Marion's  chamber,  Mr.  Sunderland  stood 
beside  her  bed,  and  looked  tenderly  into  her  face,  white 
and  immobile  as  alabaster.  No  answering  look! 
With  a  bursting  heart  he  knelt,  and  taking  her  hand, 
whispered,  — 

"  Forgive  me,  Marion !  "     He  did  not  say,  my  wife. 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  and  turned  away.  Such  a 
change  had  one  moment  wrought! 

The  next  day  a  note  was  brought  from  Mr.  Vinton, 
with  an  accompanying  letter. 

"  I  have  written  the  enclosed  out  of  my  heart ;  "  — 
his  note  said,  "  read  it  carefully,  and  then  do  what  you 
think  best  with  it." 

"  To  MY  FRIEND  MARION,  —  Induced  by  the  generous 
request  of  Mr.  Sunderland,  I  will  attempt  to  explain 
that  course,  which  has  involved  so  many  in  unhappiness. 

Never,  for  a  single  instant,  has  my  heart  wavered  in 
its  love.  And  when,  through  infinite  mercy,  the  seed 
you  had  so  long  been  sowing  took  root,  the  whole 
world  was  flooded  with  sunshine.  The  only  barrier  be- 
tween us  seemed  removed,  and  together  we  could  serve 
God.  Previous  to  this  I  had  met  Miss  Benson,  and  ac- 
cidentally had  been  informed  of  your  mutual  friendship. 
A  letter  which  I  commenced  in  Egypt,  alluding  to  this, 
1  subsequently  destroyed.  For  as  I  soon  after  became 
nterested  in  reading  the  Divine  Word,  I  concluded  to 
wait  till  I  could  give  you  my  final  impressions. 

WTien,  at  length,  the  love  of  Christ  warmed  my  soul, 
and  shed  light  on  my  darkness,  I  began  another  letter. 
I  was  at  this  time  in  Tiberias,  so  full  of  sacred  associa- 
tions. In  the  fulness  of  my  joy,  I  went  out  alone  for  a 
quiet  stroll  by  the  sea  of  GalJlee.  As  I  stood  gazing 

19 


OH,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  400 

upon  its  limpid  waters,  glorified  in  the  setting  sun,  Miss 
Benson  passed  me.  Feeling  an  umvonted  disposition 
to  be  social,  I  joined  her,  and  proposed  that  we  should 
walk  together  on  those  hallowed  shores.  For  a  time 
our  conversation  was  general,  but  at  last  I  ventured  to 
say,— 

*  You  once  spoke  of  Miss  Graham.  Do  you  corre- 
spond with  her  ?  '  'I  wrote  her  from  Cairo,  but  have 
received  no  answer.  I  suppose,  however,  I  can  account 
for  her  silence.'  '  May  I  ask  how  you  do  it  ? '  '  I  am 
delighted  to  discover  the  smallest  degree  of  human 
nature  about  you,  and,  to  gratify  a  curiosity  I  consider 
highly  commendable,  I  will  answer  frankly  that  I  pre- 
sume she  is  too  happy  to  write.'  '  But  does  not  happi- 
ness make  people  social  ? '  'It  may,  as  a  general 
thing.  And  yet  I  fancy  that  an  absorbing  passion  like 
love,  renders  most  people  selfish,  for  a  time  at  least. 
At  any  rate,  I  can  account  for  Miss  Graham's  silence  in 
no  other  way.' 

Her  remark  startled  me,  but,  preserving  an  outward 
composure,  I  said,  — '  So  your  friend  has  assumed  the 
chains  of  love,  has  she  ?  And  may  I  inquire  who  is 
the  fortunate  man?'  'It  is  Rev.  Mr.  Sunderland,  a 
young  clergyman  of  Carrisford.  But  you  must  not 
suppose  him  more  fortunate  than  she.  He  is  a  man  of 
the  highest  order,  and  altogether  the  most  perfect  char- 
acter I  ever  met,  bating,  I  might  say,  his  despotism.' 
'  What  do  you  mean  ? '  *  Exactly  what  I  say.  He's 
an  unmistakable  tyrant.  It  is  really  amusing  to  see 
how  he  lords  it  over  the  queenly  Marion,  and  how 
charmingly  she  submits.  His  word  is  her  law.  Yet, 
although  I  owe  him  a  grudge,  I  must  say  that  I 
think  hers  a  most  felicitous  lot.' 


410  MARION  GRAHAM: 

Her  playful  words  dropped  into  my  soul  like  molten 
lead,  but  I  wore  an  unmoved  front,  as  I  replied,  — '  I 
should  not  expect  a  high-spirited  woman  to  be  quite 
happy  with  an  arbitrary  man.'  *  But  you  must  not  get 
a  wrong  idea  of  him.  I  never  saw  another  such.  With 
all  his  lordliness,  he  is  invariably  gentle,  and  though  he 
is  quick-sighted  to  discern  her  faults,  and  does  not  hes- 
itate to  rebuke  them,  yet  his  homage  falls  not  one  whit 
short  of  idolatry,  —  Christian  idolatry,  I  suppose  I 
should  say.  But  you  ought  to  see  them  together.  They 
will  make  one  of  the  best-mated,  finest-looking  couples 
in  all  America.' 

Every  syllable  of  that  conversation  is  burned  into 
my  memory,  and  I  repeat  it  verbally,  that  you  may  see 
what  occasion  I  had  for  my  sad  belief.  Of  the  agony 
it  cost  me,  I  will  not  speak.  But,  in  order  to  satisfy 
myself  that  there  could  be  no  mistake,  I  wrote  to  you 
the  next  day,  stating  what  I  had  heard,  and  entreating 
you,  if  false,  to  contradict  it  immediately.  I  never 
heard  from  you  again.  Mr.  Sunderland  tells  me  that 
my  letter  did  not  reach  Glen  wood,  and  that  you  suf- 
fered much  from  protracted  suspense.  This  I  can  well 
understand.  Slowly,  one  by  one,  my  hopes  died  away. 
Looking  above  earth,  I  then  consecrated  myself  to  the 
work  of  the  ministry,  and  went  to  Germany  to  pursue 
my  studies. 

I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  named  the  little  flower- 
girl,  Alice  Green,  since  my  first  letter.  As  she  has 
some  connection  in  this  double  misunderstanding,  I 
must  now  speak  of  her.  During  my  travels,  I  heard 
occasionally  from  her  and  her  mother,  and,  a  little 
before  I  left  Palestine,  news  reached  me  of  the  mother's 
death,  and  of  Alice's  overwhelming  greif.  Previously, 


OK,    HIGHEll   THAN    HAPPINESS.  411 

therefore,  to  commencing  my  studies  in  Germany,  I 
went  to  England,  and  was  affected  by  her  exuberance 
of  joy  at  meeting  me.  I  had,  from  the  first,  been  deeply 
interested  in  her ;  and  I  promised  that,  when  I  returned 
to  America,  I  would  take  her  with  me,  in  the  mean- 
time placing  her  at  school.  When  summoned  home  by 
my  mother's  sickness,  I  did  not  forget  this  promise,  and 
was  rejoiced,  on  Alice's  account,  to  find  Miss  Benson 
on  board  the  steamer.  They  were  mutually  attracted, 
so  much  so,  that  I  finally  imparted  the  child's  story  to 
her  new  friend.  This  common  link  brought  us  much 
together.  And  on  our  arrival  at  New  York,  Miss  Ben- 
son took  Alice  home  with  her,  till  I  could  make  suita- 
ble arrangements. 

Our  formal  meeting  in  my  father's  house,  you  have 
not  forgotten.  I  could  not  greet  you  as  an  ordinary 
friend,  and  therefore,  to  maintain  my  self-control,  I  was 
obliged  to  assume  a  stoicism  I  little  felt.  I  did  indeed 
make  one  attempt  to  say  a  few  words,  but  I  failed 
almost  entirely,  as  you  will  remember. 

The  day  of  my  mother's  death,  Miss  Benson  wrote 
me  of  Alice's  sudden  sickness,  and  of  her  grief  at  my  ab- 
sence. This  hastened  my  return.  While  she  was  sick, 
I  called  every  day,  and  it  seemed  to  bring  Alice  so 
much  comfort,  that  I  continued  the  habit,  little  think- 
ing what  rumors  would  grow  out  of  it,  especially  as  I 
seldom  saw  Miss  Benson.  The  sweet  child  had  en- 
twined herself  round  my  heart,  and  seemed  to  be  the 
only  thing  I  could  call  my  own.  So,  while  absent 
at  the  South,  I  frequently  wrote  to  her,  enclosing  my 
letters  to  Miss  Benson. 

On  my  first  arrival  in  the  city,  I  had  called  on  Mrs. 

finstry,  but  carefully  avoided  all  personal  matters, 


412  MAitrox  UKAHAM; 

not  even  mentioning  your  name.  On  Tuesday  last,  just 
after  my  return  from  Virginia,  I  repeated  my  call.  When 
about  leaving,  she  broke  out,  '  I  will  not  thus  be  awed 
into  silence.  You  must  allow  me,  Mr.  Vinton,  to  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  approaching  marriage.'  '  What 
do  you  say  ? '  '  Why,  on  your  marriage  to  Miss  Ben- 
son, to  be  sure.  But  somehow  I  had  hoped  you  would 
choose  my  darling  cousin.'  I  could  make  no  reply ;  but 
she  must  have  read  my  utter  astonishment,  for  she  con- 
tinued,— '  Everybody  knows  how  you  call  there,  and  how 
you  write  to  her,  and  Lenora  herself  does  not  deny  your 
engagement.  Why,  weeks  ago,  I  wrote  a  long  and 
particular  account  of  the  matter  to  Marion.'  '  Who,'  I 
interrupted  with  some  bitterness,  '  is  about  to  be  mar- 
ried to  Mr.  Sunderland,  as  I  understand.'  « It  is  false,' 
said  she  eagerly.  '  I  don't  believe  she  ever  came  so 
near  loving  any  one  as  you.  When  she  was  here  last 
winter,  I  began  to  inquire  about  you.  She  looked  very 
grave,  replying  that  there  was  nothing  between  you, 
and  charging  me  never  to  mention  your  name.  So  I 
concluded  that  you  had  quarrelled  and  parted ;  and 
when  I  heard  this  late  news,  I  supposed  you  had  con- 
soled yourself  by  making  love  to  Lenora.' 

Some  further  inquiries  I  made,  and  then,  hastening 
to  Miss  Benson,  I  ascertained  that  her  information  as 
to  your  engagement,  was  founded  only  on  her  own  con- 
jectures. With  emotions  which  I  cannot  describe,  I 
became  convinced  that  circumstances,  and  not  change 
of  feeling,  had  separated  us.  The  thought  that  you 
might  have  suffered  in  some  degree  as  I  had,  and  that 
you  might  have  credited  the  story  of  my  falseness,  drove 
me  almost  to  frenzy.  By  the  first  express,  1  left  New 
York,  travelling  day  and  night  till  I  reached  you. 


OK,    JIKJHKIl    THAN'    11  A  I'l'I  X  KSS.  413 

Thus,  Marion,  in  the  orderings  of  that  Providence 
which  cannot  err,  the  rapturous  meeting  to  which  1 
had  looked  forward,  was  turned  into  a  bitter  and  final 
parting.  One  moment  of  indescribable  bliss;  —  and  I 
was  then  plunged  into  the  most  exquisite  misery.  But 
why  do  I  dwell  on  this  ? 

We  must  both  acquit  Miss  Benson  of  all  blame.  In 
her  information,  as  she  begs  me  to  assure  you,  she  had 
not  a  thought  that  mischief  or  unhappiness  to  any  one 
could  be  the  result.  And  she  said  only  what  she  be- 
lieved. The  reports  concerning  her  and  myself  she 
considered  too  absurd  for  credence,  but  finding  her 
denials  discredited,  without  a  suspicion  of  harm,  she 
indulged  herself  in  her  love  of  sport.  Still  less  have  we 
occasion  to  reproach  Mr.  Sunderland.  From  his  first 
knowledge  of  our  mutual  interest,  his  conduct  has 
been  marked  with  the  utmost  magnanimity.  Nor  has 
his  chivalrous  high-mindedness  for  one  moment  been 
remitted.  Not  till  he  believed  you  to  be  cruelly  for- 
saken, did  he  make  the  slightest  attempt  to  win  your 
affections.  If  censure  attaches  to  any  one,  I  must  take 
it  to  myself.  I  blame  my  own  proud  reserve.  Had  I 
only  made  inquiries  on  my  return,  my  mistake  would 
have  been  corrected.  But  from  the  time  of  that  never- 
forgotten  conversation  with  Miss  Benson  till  my  late 
interview  with  your  cousin,  your  name  did  not  once 
pass  my  lips. 

I  need  not  say  that  I  find  it  hard  to  submit,  but  I 
have  not  a  doubt  that  all  these  events  have  been  per- 
mitted for  our  higher  attainment  in  the  life  of  heaven. 
If  we  only  improve  by  the  stern  discipline,  this  bitterest 
of  trials  will  be  transmuted  into  an  inestimable  good. 

I  dare  not  yet  trust  myself  to  think  of  you  as  another's 


414  MAI: ION'  GKAHAM  : 

wife.  But  I  can  earnestly  pray  for  heaven's  richest  bless- 
ings upon  you  both.  Mr.  Sunderland  is  far  more  worthy 
of  you  than  I,  and  though  you  both  suffer  now,  he,  in 
some  respects  perhaps,  more  keenly  than  you,  yet  time 
will  bring  you  mutual  happiness.  It  cannot  be  other- 
wise with  those  so  peculiarly  adapted  to  one  another. 

Let  no  thought  of  me,  and  no  bitter  regrets  for  my 
fate,  cloud  your  sunshine.  God  wih1  take  care  of  me ; 
and  in  his  service,  I  shall  find  consolation  and  joy. 
Farewell ! " 

Mr.  Sunderland  read  this  account  with  intense  inter- 
est, feeling  that  he  would  willingly  die  to  bring  together 
the  loving  hearts  he  had  separated.  He  enclosed  the 
letter  anew,  simply  saying,  — 

"  May  God  give  you  peace,  dear  Marion,  for  man 
cannot  do  it  In  sorrow  and  in  love, 

HENRY  SUNDERLAND.'' 

Passionate  were  the  tears  Marion  shed  over  this  letr 
ter,  but  they  were  not  drops  of  healing.  Weakened  and 
unnerved  by  her  protracted  trials,  this  last  shock  seemed 
to  have  changed  her  very  nature.  She  wrote  in  reply  : 

"  You,  Maurice,  are  not  perjured  by  false  vows.  You 
are  not  frenzied  by  a  hopeless  bondage,  in  which  it  is  a 
crime  even  to  think  of  one,  who  yet  possesses  your 
wrhole  being.  Your  heart  has  not  been  crushed  and 
bruised  till  not  one  single  drop  of  life-blood  remains. 
You  may  yet  find  happiness  and  consolation.  I  never 
can.  If  my  words  are  bitter,  they  are  wrung  from  me 
by  my  tenfold  bitterer  anguish  and  despair.  Farewell  — 
forever ! " 


Oil,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  41") 

She  sent  this  to  Mr.  Sunderland  through  his  mother, 
asking  him  to  read  it,  and,  if  he  thought  proper,  enclose 
and  direct  it. 

"  O  Marion  !  "  he  said  to  himself  with  a  burst  of 
emotion,  "  you  are  driving  the  iron  deeper  and  deeper 
into  my  soul." 

He  forwarded  the  note,  adding,  — 

"  God  bless  you  for  your  kind  and  generous  spirit ! 
And  God  help  our  poor  Marion !  I  am  obliged  to  say 
that  she  regards  me  with  fixed  aversion.  My  life-pur- 
poses are  changed.  I  cannot  give  her  liberty,  but  she 
shall  be  free  from  my  presence.  I  leave  to-morrow." 

That  evening  he  had  a  long  talk  with  his  mother. 

"  You  will  stay  with  Marion,  I  feel  assured,  for  after 
all  she  is  my  wife." 

"  I  will  do  any  thing  you  wish,  my  son." 

"  I  need  not  ask  you  to  be  gentle  and  forbearing.  She 
has  suffered  so  much  that  her  own  intense  misery  blinds 
her  to  the  sorrows  of  others.  But  for  my  fatal  urgency, 
we  might  all  have  been  saved  this  wretchedness." 

"Do  not  reproach  yourself,  Henry.  You  did  every 
thing  with  the  best  intent." 

"  But  I  was  blinded  by  the  madness  of  passion,  and 
took  advantage  of  my  influence  to  persuade  her  against 
her  own  decided  judgment.  Oh,  had  I  only  waited,  as 
she  besought ! " 

"  We  are  all  liable  to  err,  my  dear  child ;  but  you  do 
wrong  to  add  such  bitter  self-reproach  to  your  great 
burden  of  sorrow.  God  may  yet  restore  peace  to  us." 

The  next  morning  he  went  to  the  chamber  of  his 
bride,  —  ah,  what  a  misnomer ! 

"  I  have  come  to  bid  you  farewell,  Marion." 


416  MAIIIOX   GRAHAM  ; 

Taking  her  hand,  he  pressed  it  in  silence,  and  then, 
without  word  or  token  in  reply,  he  passed  out,  feeling 
that  he  had  entered  upon  the  Sahara  of  life. 

When  he  was  getting  into  the  carriage,  Mr.  Maynard 
came  up,  and,  warmly  grasping  his  hand,  placed  in  it 
the  following  line  ;  — 

"  I  know  how  your  heart  must  be  stung.  But  Ma- 
rion's is  a  noble  nature,  and  this  mood  will  pass.  I  beg 
you  to  do  nothing  in  haste. 

Your  brother  in  sympathy  and  sorrow, 

MAURICE  VINTON." 

But  his  decision  was  not  to  be  revoked.  According 
to  his  plan,  he  found  a  substitute  for  his  pulpit,  and 
then  started  on  his  lonely  journey  westward.  With  a 
constant  change  of  place,  there  was  no  change  of  feel- 
ing. Everywhere  he  carried  with  him  that  unvarying 
burden,  that  ceaseless  sorrow,  that  consuming  regret. 


OK,    111G11EK    TliAN    HAPPINESS.  417 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

"  Up  in  heaven, 

Dark,  wheel-like,  turning  clouds  are  all  we  find: 
Do  not  mock  us ;  grief  has  made  us  unbelieving,  — 
We  look  up  for  God,  but  tears  have  made  us  blind." 

THE  wintry  weeks  and  months  dragged  slowly  by. 
Marion  had  resumed  her  external  life,  if  indeed  it  could 
be  called  life.  She  took  no  interest  in  any  thing.  She 
rarely  spoke,  except  in  answer  to  questions,  and  then, 
sometimes,  with  an  unwonted  harshness  in  her  tone. 
The  sunshine  had  faded  from  her  wan  face,  and  the 
sweet  light  from  her  sunken  eyes.  All  hope  and  joy,  all 
animation  and  energy,  had  died  out  of  her ;  and  instead, 
was  the  blankness  of  despair,  the  dull  silence  of  a 
constant,  hopeless  sorrow. 

Mr.  Sunderland  felt  that  it  would  be  unwise  to 
write  at  present  to  Marion,  and,  as  she  never  inquired 
after  him,  his  name  was  gradually  dropped.  Alas! 
another  misunderstanding  was  springing  up  to  poison 
the  only  fountain  of  earthly  happiness  yet  open  to  her. 
In  the  madness  of  those  moments  when  she  learned, 
too  late,  that  Maurice's  love  had  never  wavered,  she  had 
given  utterance  to  the  most  scathing  words ;  "  You  have 
killed  me ! " —  "  I  am  perjured  by  false  vows ! " — "  frenzied 
by  a  hopeless  bondage!"  Is  it  strange  her  husband 
should  conclude  that  that  wild  tempest  had  swept  away 
the  sweet  blossoms,  and  destroyed,  root  and  branch, 


418  MARION  GRAHAM; 

the  tender  plant  of  love  which  he  had  so  carefully  nur- 
tured ?  Is  it  strange  that,  believing  this,  his  extreme 
delicacy  should  lead  him  to  a  voluntary  exile  ?  Had  he 
better  understood  her,  or  rather,  had  not  his  own  con- 
nection with  the  case  affected  his  judgment,  there  might 
still  have  dawned  some  hope  of  a  brighter  future.  Had 
he  lingered  near,  cherishing  her  with  fond  assiduities, 
as  in  those  days  before  that  fatal  marriage,  she  might, 
perchance,  have  been  gradually  warmed  into  tenderness 
and  love.  But  she  neither  realized  the  full  significance 
of  those  frantic  utterances,  nor  dreamed  of  then:  terrible 
influence.  Consequently,  his  considerate  absence  and 
reserve  were,  to  her,  only  evidences  of  coldness  and  es- 
trangement And  these,  when  feeling  that  she  had  a 
claim  to  peculiar  kindness  and  sympathy,  not  only 
wounded,  but  irritated  her.  So  she  nursed  in  herself  a 
sense  of  wrong,  which  in  its  turn  begot  a  proud  and 
bitter  resentment,  entirely  foreign  to  her  better  nature. 
Thus  the  fruit  of  her  suffering  was  not  the  genial  graces 
of  the  Spirit,  but  a  ranker  growth  of  human  infirmities 
and  passions. 

Weary  to  exhaustion  of  her  sad  round  of  tedious 
hours  and  days,  she  at  length  began  to  feel  as  if  almost 
any  change  would  bring  a  measure  of  relief. 

"  I  trust  you  are  not  confining  yourself  to  this 
gloomy  prison  on  my  account,"  said  she  one  day  to 
Mrs.  Sunderland. 

"  I  am  happy  to  stay  here,  dear  Marion,  if  I  can  be 
any  company  for  you ;  or  I  will  go  with  you  anywhere 
you  desire." 

"  I  only  know  that  I  am  tired  of  staying  here." 

"  I  have  thought  I  ought  to  go  to  Carrisford  during 
my  son's  absence,  and  look  after  matters  a  little.  Are 
you  willing  to  go  with  me  ?  " 


01!.    IIKillKK    THAN     MAIMMNKSS.  4l!> 

u  I  have  no  objection,"  replied  Marion,  hoping  that 
new  scenes  would  render  her  wearisome  days  more  en- 
durable. 

But  she  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  That  air  of 
pleasant  repose  which  the  parsonage  had  always  worn, 
had  now  given  place  to  a  desolate  gloom,  which,  if  pos- 
sible, deepened  her  depression.  She  felt  assured  that 
Mr.  Sunderland  was  entirely  alienated,  and  that  his 
mother  tolerated  her  only  from  a  sense  of  duty.  She 
was  indeed  trebly  bereft,  having  in  one  moment  lost  her 
lover,  her  brother,  and  her  husband.  In  her  bitterness 
at  being  deserted,  she  occasionally  indulged  in  thoughts 
of  Maurice,  which  ought  not  to  have  been  harbored  for  a 
single  moment.  And  at  night,  she  would  sometimes 
passionately  murmur  his  name,  while  tears  watered  her 
pillow. 

Such    indulgence   could   not   fail  of  its  retribution. 

Mrs.  Sunderland  had  written  frequently  to  Henry, 
and,  for  a  time,  had  encouraged  him  with  the  hope  of 
a  change.  But  at  length  she  felt  constrained  to  say,  — 

"  I  perceive  no  softening  in  Marion,  and  I  begin  to 
fear  that  her  nature  is  hopelessly  imbittered.  But  I  see 
nothing  to  be  gained  from  your  protracted  exile,  and  I 
long  for  the  comfort  of  your  society.  Marion  cannot 
be  more  indifferent  to  your  presence,  than  she  is  ap- 
parently to  your  absence,  and  I  sometimes  think  she 
would  be  less  so.  I  am  perplexed  to  understand  her. 
I  could  never  have  believed  it  possible  for  so  generous  a 
being  to  be  so  unjust,  But  come  to  your  mother,  my 
son,  in  whose  heart  you  will  find  a  warm  welcome." 

Spring  was  now  advancing,  and  beauty  and  fragrance 
sprang  up  everywhere  beneath  her  footsteps.  Marion 


420 

would  wander  away  alone  for  hours,  but  her  commute 
ion  with  nature  was  not  healthful.  Living  in  the  past 
was,  to  her,  sin,  yet  almost  unconsciously  she  expended 
much  time  in  this  worse  than  useless  reverie.  Where, 
alas,  was  her  trust  in  God  ?  Had  she  meekly  accepted 
the  discipline  of  life,  her  whole  spiritual  nature  would 
have  been  refined  and  elevated.  But,  rebelling  as  she 
did,  how  could  it  do  otherwise  than  drag  her  down  into 
the  low  plane  of  selfish  earthliness  ?  Her  moral  sen- 
timents were  thus,  for  the  time,  deadened,  and  her  soul, 
being  out  of  harmony  with  the  divine  will,  was  filled 
with  chaotic  and  discordant  elements. 

One  day  she  strolled  into  the  woods,  where  she  had 
rambled  on  her  arrival  at  the  place  as  a  teacher,  when 
the  departure  of  Maurice  and  the  death  of  her  father 
were  fresh  sorrows.  In  that  same  forest,  she  had  lis- 
tened to  Henry  Sunderland's  avowal  of  love.  Memory 
now  vividly  recalled  the  scene.  And  as  she  dwelt  upon 
her  tried  acquaintance  with  him,  his  kind  generosity 
came  out  in  full  perspective.  She  was  touched  with 
many  a  tender  recollection  of  his  considerate  friendship, 
and  she  wept  that  they  were  now  so  entirely  sundered. 

This  opening  of  her  heart  to  genial  influences  was 
followed  by  a  quickening  of  conscience.  That  stern 
monitor  reminded  her  of  wrong  feelings  indulged,  of 
bitter  resentments  cherished,  and  of  the  plainest  duties 
neglected.  Stung  by  self-reproach,  she  resolved  to  ban- 
ish ah1  unkind  recollections,  and  to  return  to  her  forsaken 
duties.  But  though  her  penitence  was  sincere,  it  was 
not  thorough.  Her  eyes  were  not  yet  sufficiently  cleared 
from  the  mists  of  passion,  nor  was  her  heart  sufficiently 
humbled,  to  enable  her  to  repent  of  and  renounce  her 
darling  sin  —  that  fatal  reverie  —  that  impassioned 


OK,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS  421 

cherishing  of  the  dear  image  of  him,  between  whom, 
and  the  holy  sanctuary  of  wedlock  in  which  she  was  so 
tenderly  enshrined,  stood  an  angel  with  a  flaming  sword. 
She  sinned  neither  deliberately  nor  boldly;  —  perhaps  not 
even  consciously  ;  for,  as  we  have  seen,  her  nice  sense 
of  wrong  was  transiently  blunted.  But  in  the  deep 
secrecy  of  her  heart,  she  thought  of  Maurice,  waking 
and  dreaming  ;  —  she  dwelt  over  and  over  again  on  the 
wild  transports  of  that  brief  moment  when  she  was 
folded  to  his  throbbing  bosom. 

Ah,  Marion!  —  thy  Redeemer  has  led  thee  safely 
through  the  wilderness ;  —  and  wilt  thou  now  die  of 
unhallowed  thirst  ? 

Returning  from  her  walk,  she  was  met  at  the  door  by 
Mrs.  Sunderland,  who,  with  assumed  composure,  told 
her  that  she  had  received  a  letter  from  Henry,  announc- 
ing his  speedy  return  ;  —  that  she  looked  for  him, 
indeed,  that  afternoon.  Marion  hastened  to  her  room 
to  collect  her  thoughts.  It  was  a  long  time  since  she 
had  heard  that  name,  and,  with  a  foolish  reserve,  she 
had  refrained  from  asking  questions,  lest  they  might  be 
deemed  intrusive.  She  was  moved  at  the  tidings,  in 
spite  of  herself,  but  she  determined  not  to  betray  her 
emotion.  Feeling  assured  that  Mr.  Sunderland  and 
his  mother  were  both  estranged,  she  was  unwilling  to 
owe  to  their  compassion,  what  did  not  spring  from 
affection.  Under  the  influence,  however,  of  her  partial 
repentance,  she  resolved,  if  he  met  her  with  kindness, 
to  return  that  kindness.  As  her  old  friend  and  brother, 
she  could  rejoice  to  receive  him,  though  for  more  than 
this  she  was  not  prepared. 

With  feverish  interest,  she  sat  down  at  her  window, 
being  careful  to  place  herself  where  she  could  see  with- 


422  ,  MAK10X    GRAHAM  : 

out  being  seen.  About  an  hour  had  thus  passed,  when 
she  heard  the  stage  rolling  rapidly  along.  Presently  it 
turned  a  corner,  and  drove  up  towards  the  door.  She 
saw  Mr.  Sunderland  descend  the  steps  and  enter  the 
gate.  She  saw  his  mother  go  out,  she  witnessed 
their  tender  embrace,  and  she  felt  more  than  ever  alone. 

"  Does  Marion  know  of  my  arrival  ?  " 

"  She  knows  you  were  expected.     Shall  I  call  her  ?  '* 

He  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "  I  would  not  have 
her  welcome  constrained." 

When  summoned  to  tea,  Marion  put  on  all  the  com- 
posure she  could  command,  and  slowly  walked  down 
into  the  sitting-room.  She  looked  so  wan  and  sad  that 
Henry  yearned  to  take  her  to  his  heart,  and  had  there 
been  no  legal  ties  between  them,  or  had  she  evinced  the 
smallest  emotion,  he  would  have  ventured  to  do  so. 
But  she  was  his  wife  —  she  looked  upon  him  as  her 
gaoler,  and  this  would  only  remind  her  of  her  galling 
yoke.  He  had  hoped,  oh,  ho\v  much,  from  this  meet- 
ing !  But  their  mutual  misunderstanding  made  it  like 
that  of  two  cakes  of  polar  ice.  Marion  had  concluded 
to  spend  the  evening  below;  after  tea  therefore,  she  took 
a  seat  by  the  window,  while  Henry  gave  his  mother 
some  account  of  their  western  friends.  She  thought  of 
their  old,  free  intercourse,  and  she  felt  that  one  such  hour 
would  be  to  her  like  a  draught  of  cold  water  to  a  faint- 
ing soul.  But  she  could  not  leap  the  barrier  between 
them.  So  she  choked  back  her  vain  longings,  and 
drew  closer  the  mask  over  her  bleeding  heart. 

The  hour  for  family  worship  arrived,  and  they  all 
bowed  together,  while  Mr.  Sunderland  pleaded  for 
strength  and  heavenly  consolation  in  behalf  of  those, 
whose  earthly  lot  wap  disappointment  and  sorrow, 


OK,    HIGHKU    Til  AX    HAPPINESS.  423 

When  Marion  reached  her  own  room,  she  cried  to 
Heaven  for  light  to  guide  her  on  her  difficult  pathway. 
She  began  to  perceive  that  her  severe  trials  had  only 
produced  bitter  fruits,  and  she  renewed  her  determina- 
tion to  return  to  duty.  In  accordance  with  this  resolu- 
tion, she  assumed  certain  domestic  cares,  and  inquiring 
from  Mrs.  Sunderland  after  the  sick  of  the  parish,  sh 
began  to  make  calls  upon  them. 

"  Young  Mrs.  Sunderland  is  a  purty  spoken  woman," 
said  old  Mrs.  Church  to  her  returned  minister,  "  but  they 
do  say  she's  had  dreadful  trials." 

Many  were  the  aimless  arrows  that  reached  that  no- 
ble heart,  but  only  One  could  read  the  agony  they 
caused. 

It  cannot  be  supposed  that  so  unheard  of  an  event  as 
a  bridegroom's  leaving  his  new-made  bride  for  months, 
could  take  place  in  any  community  without  exciting 
gossip.  An  action  so  directly  contrary  to  the  Scripture 
warrant,  by  which  even  a  soldier,  newly  married,  was 
exempted  from  his  duties  for  a  year,  must  necessarily 
occasion  many  surmises.  Speculation,  consequently, 
had  been  rife,  both  in  Glenwood  and  Carrisford.  Under 
these  circumstances,  it  was  fortunate  that  the  clergyman 
whom  Mr.  Sunderland  had  procured  as  his  substitute, 
was  a  man  of  discretion,  whose  judicious  conduct  had 
done  much  to  allay  prying  curiosity. 

Time  passed  on,  and  Marion  satisfied  herself  that  she 
was  fulfilling  the  requirements  of  conscience.  Had  she 
forgotten  those  cruel  words  for  which  she  had  never 
sought  forgiveness  —  never  made  atonement  ?  The 
strictest  performance  of  her  external  duties  brought  no 
balm  to  her  husband's  wounded  spirit.  Since  that  fatal 
moment,  she  had  given  him  neither  word  nor  look  of 


424  MARION   GRAHAM; 

affection;  nay,  her  heart  was  still  barred  against  ac- 
knowledging him  in  the  endearing  relation  into  which 
she  had  admitted  him.  Till  this  invisible  but  invinci- 
ble barrier  was  removed,  had  she  then  discharged  her 
whole  duty  ?  —  had  she  done  what  is  most  fitting  for  a 
wife  to  do  ? 

Oh !  how  do  we  enwrap  ourselves  in  delusions !  How 
often  does  pride  draw  the  bolts  of  a  woman's  heart 
against  her  husband !  Yet  she  calls  it  self-respect,  or, 
perhaps,  self-distrust.  Would  that  there  were  less  self- 
consciousness  and  more  self-forgetfulness  in  our  human 
love !  Afraid  to  go  beyond  her  limits,  afraid  to  make 
advances  lest  she  should  be  repelled,  afraid  to  trust  the 
gushing  instincts  of  her  nature !  And  so  she  reasons 
herself  into  formality  and  reserve !  —  how  many  an  alien- 
ation has  been  occasioned  from  no  other  cause  !  What 
deep  channels  do  such  mistakes  work  for  the  misery  of 
many  a  household !  Love  is  a  tender  plant,  and  ever 
needs  the  fostering  sunshine.  Its  delicate  leaves  and 
blossoms  are  easily  touched  with  blight,  and  if  perchance 
it  strikes  down  to  the  root,  woe  to  the  heart  whose  hopes 
are  there  centred ! 

"  Miss  Benson  has  called  to  see  you,"  said  Eliza, 
tapping  at  Marion's  door.  "  And  Mrs.  Sunderland 
wishes  to  know  whether  you  will  have  her  come  to 
your  chamber." 

With  heightened  color  she  assented,  and  in  a  moment 
the  long  separated  friends  were  clasped  in  one  another's 
arms.  They  were  neither  of  them  able  to  restrain  then: 
tears,  but  after  an  instant,  Lenora  dashed  her  own  away, 
saying,  — 

"  This  is  all  nonsense.    But,  Marion,  what  a  criss-cross 


OR,    HIGITKi;    THAN   HAPPINESS.  42") 

game  is  this  of  life  !  There's  no  use  in  weeping  about  it 
though.  I  have  spoiled  several  letters  to  you  this  win- 
ter by  crying  over  them,  and  I  concluded  not  to  make 
any  more  attempts  in  that  line.  If  I  behave  no  better 
now,  however,  I  might  as  well  have  staid  away.  But 
let  me  tell  you  that  I  have  been  meaning  and  expecting 
to  come  to  you  ever  since  —  the  flood,  and  have  been 
delayed  only  by  my  mother's  long  sickness.  Now,  what 
have  you  to  say  for  yourself?  " 

"  Nothing,''  replied  Marion,  whose  face  had  assumed 
its  usual  wearied  expression. 

"  Then  I  must  straightway  go  into  the  confessional. 
You  know  I  never  mince  matters.  Therefore  let  me 
dash  at  once  into  the  thickest  of  the  battle,  and  repeat 
emphatically  what  you  have  already  heard,  to  wit ;  — 
that  when  in  my  simplicity  I  told  Mr.  Vinton  what  I 
solemnly  believed  to  be  the  truth,  I  never  dreamed  of 
any  possible  mischief.  How  could  I  ?  And  when  I 
learned  the  result,  under  the  lash  of  remorse  I  virtuously 
resolved  that,  cost  what  it  would,  I  would  reveal  to  you 
a  secret,  which,  but  for  this,  should  have  been  buried 
with  me.  You  will  at  least  be  convinced  that  I  could 
have  no  motive  for  deceiving  any  one." 

"  I  never  supposed  your  assertion  was  an  intentional 
wrong,  Lenora,  but  only  one  of  your  thoughtless 
random  speeches,  for  which,"  she  added  with  slight  bit- 
terness, "  the  happiness  of  three  persons  must  be  sac- 
rificed." 

"  Hear  me,"  said  Lenora  determinedly,  while  emotion 
mantled  her  face,  and  gave  a  peculiar  brilliancy  to  her 
eye.  «  Hear  me,  and  then  judge  whether  it  was  a  ran- 
dom speech,  —  whether  you  alone  have  been  compelled 
to  drink  wormwood  and  gall,  —  you,  Marion,  the  only 


426  MARION"   GRAHAM  ; 

woman  on  the  wide  earth  whose  lot  I  ever  envied.  But 
remember  that  my  terrible  secret  is  to  be  shared  by  no 
other."  The  words  came  with  increasing  difficulty  as 
she  continued,  —  "  You  know  nothing  of  the  pangs  of 
unrequited  love." 

As  she  paused,  a  rush  of  feeling  swept  over  Marion. 
Had  Lenora  then  loved  Maurice  ?  and,  in  her  madness, 
had  she  deceived  him,  hoping  thus  to  win  him  to  her- 
self? Her  eye  kindled  and  her  lip  curled  with  scorn, 
while  hot  words  sprang  to  her  lips  which  would  have 
scathed  her  friend  like  lightning.  Lenora  read  her  sus- 
picion, and  indignantly  exclaimed,  — 

"  Can  you  believe  me  guilty  of  so  mean  a  thing  ? 
No,  Marion,  it  was  not  Mr.  Vinton  that  I  loved." 

Her  voice  dropped,  and  as  she  faltered  out  Mr.  Sun- 
derland's  name,  she  covered  her  face  with  both  her 
hands,  and  sobbed  aloud.  As  the  sudden  light  flashed 
upon  Marion,  many  events  in  the  past  were,  in  one 
moment,  illumined.  Incapable  of  a  single  word,  she  too 
broke  into  convulsive  weeping.  After  a  brief  silence, 
Lenora  proceeded,  — 

"  There !  it  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  confess,  but  it's 
done.  You  can  judge  now,  whether  there  was  any 
pleasure  to  me  in  the  tale  I  told  Mr.  Vinton." 

Marion  wrung  her  hands,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Blind,  blind,  blind  that  I  have  been !  And  we 
might  all  have  been  spared  this  unmeasured  suffering, 
—  all  have  been  happy  !  Alas  for  us !  " 

"  Had  you  only  confided  in  me,  dear  Marion !  " 

"  I  could  not ; "  —  and  she  told  Lenora  her  own  sad 
story,  adding,  —  "I  too  have  innocently  done  a  great 
wrong.  Had  my  eyes  been  open,  there  would  have  been 
no  such  mistake  on  your  part ;  you  would  have  acted 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  427 

yourself,  Mr.  Sunderland  would  have  loved  you,  and  all 
would  have  ended  differently.  Forgive  me,  Lenora !  " 

"  I  have  nobody  to  forgive  but  myself,  for  doing  so 
silly  a  thing  as  to  fall  in  love  unasked.  And  yet  he  was 
very  kind  to  me,  and  I  used  sometimes  to  fancy  that 
had  he  not  known  you,  —  but  that  was  nonsense. 
When  I  saw  how  he  worshipped  you,  mingled  disap- 
pointment and  pride  brought  out  all  my  perversity.  So 
I  made  myself  as  disagreeable  to  him,  one  look  of  love 
from  whom  would  have  been  worth  more  than  all  the 
treasures  of  the  Indies,  —  as  if  I  were  bent  on  his  hat- 
ing me.  And  if  yon  were  blind,  I  was  equally  so  in 
not  discovering  that  my  information  was  torture  to  Mr. 
Vinton.  But  then  he's  a  hero  —  a  very  Spartan  for  en- 
durance. I  don't  believe  he  would  flinch  outwardly  at 
the  greatest  amount  of  suffering." 

"  She  has  not  witnessed  his  agony  as  I  have,"  thought 
Marion,  while  Lenora  continued,  — 

"  The  report  which  sprang  from  his  calling  to  see 
Alice,  vexed  me  from  its  absurdity.  I  contradicted  it 
till  I  was  tired,  but  as  nobody  believed  me,  I  concluded 
to  let  them  have  their  own  way.  I  own  to  imposing 
upon  Julia,  because  she  is  so  credulous.  But  I  really 
supposed  the  Austins  knew  me  well  enough  to  under- 
stand my  badinage.  Ho\v  little  I  dreamed  of  the  con- 
sequences of  my  thoughtless  words  !  I  have  since  then 
jbeen  ready  to  forswear  all  raillery,  and  confine  myself  to 
Wke  Quaker  yea  and  nay.  I  said  as  much  to  Mr.  Vin- 
ton, when  he  had  been  doing  his  best  to  exonerate  me 
from  blame.  But  he's  a  noble  fellow  as  ever  trod  the 
earth.  Have  you  heard  his  plan  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  nothing." 

"  Why,  he  is  determined,  after  another  year's  study 


428  MARION  GRAHAM; 

to  go  as  a  missionary  to  China.  He  is  a  man  of  too 
much  cultivation  and  elegance  to  be  thrown  a\vay  upon 
barbarians  and  cannibals,  such  as  I  have  no  doubt  he 
will  find  plenty  of.  But  there  is  no  dissuading  him ; 
and  he  is  as  assiduous  in  his  studies  as  if  he  were  pre- 
paring himself  for  the  United  States  Senate." 

"  How  far  has  he  risen  above  me  !  "  thought  Marion. 
Then,  addressing  Lenora,  "  Tell  me  something  of  Alice." 

"  She  is  truly  a  remarkable  young  girl,  with  the  most 
acute  sensibilities,  and  the  finest  natural  instincts  of  any 
child  I  ever  saw.  It  is  really  touching  to  observe  her 
affection  for  Mr.  Vinton,  and  her  quick  perception  in 
every  thing  that  concerns  him.  On  his  first  call  after 
that  sad  return  from  Glenwood,  I  did  not  see  him.  But 
Alice  came  up  stairs,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  my 
neck,  burst  into  tears.  '  What  is  the  matter  ? '  I  asked. 
'  My  dear  uncle  is  so  unhappy.'  '  Did  he  tell  you  so  ?  ' 
'  No !  he  never  talks  of  himself,  and  he  was  just  as  kind 
as  ever.'  *  What,  then,  put  it  into  your  wise  head  ? ' 
'  Oh,  I  saw  it,  Miss  Lenora,  in  his  eyes.  I  can  always 
read  Ms  eyes.  And  I  can't  bear  to  have  him  suffer  so.' " 

"  And  where  is  she  now  ?  " 

"  She  is  boarding  with  Mr.  Vinton,  and  attending  an 
excellent  school.  She  makes  wonderful  progress,  but  he 
is  her  motive-power.  I  don't  know  how  she  will  ever 
endure  his  departure.  But  he  has  not  yet  dared  to  tell 
her  his  purpose." 

The  friends  continued  their  conversation  until  they 
were  summoned  to  tea,  when  Lenora  was  cordially 
greeted  by  Mr.  Sunderland.  He  and  his  mother  gave 
her  an  urgent  invitation  to  spend  a  few  weeks  with 
them,  hoping  her  company  would  be  a  benefit  as  well  as 
a  gratification  to  Marion.  The  present  state  of  affairs, 


<)|;.    IIHJHHIl    THAN    il  A  1'1'IN  HSS  42^ 

which  Lenora  soon  apprehended,  inclined  her  to  accept 
the  invitation,  but  wishing  to  elicit  some  expression 
from  her  friend,  she  said, — 

"  And  have  you  not  a  word  to  say,  madam,  in  behalf 
of  this  request?" 

"  Such  a  viyit  would  be  very  pleasant  to  me,  of  course," 
replied  Marion,  blushing  at  being  forced  to  express  her- 
self. 

Lenora's  was  an  unselfish  nature,  and  the  deep  cloud 
which  rested  over  the  young  couple,  saddened  her  heart. 
She  nobly  resolved  to  do  her  utmost  to  unbind  the  po- 
tent spell  of  repulsion  which  kept  them  asunder,  and,  if 
possible,  to  bring  them  into  a  sphere  of  mutual  attrac- 
tion. To  break  up  the  formality  which  prevailed  in  all 
their  intercourse,  was  her  first  endeavor.  And  by  her 
skilful  and  determined  efforts,  she  soon  kindled  some- 
thing like  a  smile  upon  both  those  grave  faces.  Her 
presence  was  like  a  ray  of  day-light,  which  has  suddenly 
penetrated  some  dark  cell,  greatly  to  the  surprise  of  its 
gloomy  inmates. 

One  evening,  Lenora  put  her  arm  round  Marion,  and 
led  her  down  from  the  veranda  into  the  broad  garden 
path,  where  they  slowly  walked  back  and  forth.  Glanc- 
ing towards  the  window,  and  observing  Mr.  Sunderland 
wistfully  watching  them,  she  beckoned  to  him.  He 
joined  them  at  once,  his  delicacy  leading  him  to  Le- 
nora's side.  Strolling  towards  the  lower  end  of  the 
garden,  she  proposed  that  they  should  sit  for  a  while 
in  the  arbor. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you  both  for  neglecting  this 
lovely  spot,"  exclaimed  she,  rattling  away  with  seeming 
thoughtlessness.  "  Only  see  how  these  luxuriant  vines 
want  pruning  and  training!"  And  asking  Mr.  Sunder- 


430  MARION   GfcAHAM; 

land  for  his  knife,  she  began  to  cut  away  the  decayed 
branches  with  great  vigor. 

"  Let  me  take  it,  Miss  Benson." 

"  Not  until  you  drop  that  formal  address,  sir." 

"  Lenora,  then." 

"  What  heathen  these  have  come  to  be ! "  audibly 
soliloquized  Lenora.  Then  turning  to  Mr.  Sunder- 
land.  "  If  I  stay,  I  shall  insist  on  an  immediate  im- 
provement in  this  department  of  taste." 

"  You  shall  be  appointed  professorin  of  .^Esthetics.'' 

Having  trimmed  the  vines,  she  proposed  that  they 
should  extend  their  walk.  The  dew  was  falling,  and 
after  taking  a  few  steps,  she  broke  out,  — 

"  I  declare  I  never  saw  such  a  change  in  any  human 
being.  The  proverb  ought  not  to  read,  '  FeminaJ  but 
Homo  '  mutabilis?  I  really  ache  to  see  you  tyrannizing 
over  Marie  in  your  old  fashion.  Are  you  aware  that 
she  is  not  well,  and  that  it  is  the  height  of  imprudence 
for  her  to  be  out  in  this  night  air,  unshawled  and 
unbonneted  ?  " 

He  looked  concerned,  but  giving  him  no  time  to 
reply,  she  continued,  — 

"  Why  don't  you  use  your  prerogative,  and  order  her 
in,  or  else  insist  on  the  shawl  and  rubbers  ?  " 

Both  he  and  Marion  colored,  but  Lenora  was  bound 
to  deliver  herself. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  took  it  out  in  tyranny  before 
you  were  married ;  certainly  I  can  testify  there  was  no 
lack  on  that  score  then.  But  I  must  say,  I  do  like  to 
see  a  husband  assume  the  reins,  when  necessary." 

No  allusion  to  their  marriage  had  ever  before  been 
made  in  their  presence,  and,  by  a  tacit  understanding, 
it  was  as  though  it  had  not  been.  It  is  not  strange, 


OR,    HlUHEU   THAN    HAPHNESS  4ol 

then,  that  Lenora's  outspoken  words  sent  the  conscious 
blood  into  their  faces.  But  embarrassed  as  he  was, 
Mr.  Sunderland  playfully  responded,  — 

"  You  seem  to  have  taken  the  reins." 

"  I  resign  them  this  moment.  Please  put  your  wife 
under  immediate  and  stringent  orders,  sir  captain." 

"  Well,  then,"  he  replied  with  an  air  very  unlike  that 
of  a  commander,  "  I  will  bring  out  her  shawl  and  rub- 
bers." 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  Marion,  turning 
towards  the  house. 

She  did  this  to  save  him  from  the  awkwardness  of 
waiting  upon  her,  but  her  husband  could  only  infer  that 
she  was  unwilling  their  mutual  reserve  should  be  in 
any  degree  lessened.  The  two  fell  into  a  silence,  from 
which  Lenora  could  not  arouse  them. 

She  soon  found  that  she  had  undertaken  a  hard  task, 
not  only  difficult  to  be  accomplished,  but  one  hard  for 
her  to  perform.  Absence  had  not  wholly  conquered 
her  unfortunate  attachment,  and  present  circumstances, 
appealing  to  her  constant  sympathy,  brought  peculiar 
temptation.  Longing  to  see  the  perpetual  cloud  ban- 
ished from  Henry  Sunderland's  brow,  it  was  only  human 
nature  that  she  should  sometimes  long  herself  to  dispel 
it.  But  she  was  a  brave  spirit,  and  while  forced  to 
struggle  against  the  pleadings  of  her  own  heart,  she 
did  not  relax  her  earnest  efforts  for  her  friends.  And 
so  cheerful  was  she,  that  not  even  Marion,  who  knew 
her  secret,  had  any  suspicion  of  the  extent  of  her  self- 
sacrifice. 

ori  »IB  y "' 

• 


\'.\-2  M.Mtiux  GRAHAM; 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

"  Alas,  I  have  grieved  so  I  am  hard  to  love,  — 
Yet  love  me  —  wilt  thou?    Open  thine  heart  wide, 
And  fold  within,  the  wet  wings  of  thy  dove." 

ON  the  evening  following  Lenora's  unsuccessful  ex- 
periment, Mr.  Sunderland  went  directly  from  the  tea- 
table  into  his  study,  and  did  not  again  appear  until  the 
hour  for  family  worship.  Lenora  was  moved  by  the 
unusual  pallor  of  his  countenance,  and  after  Marion  had 
retired  to  her  room,  she  followed  her  there. 

"I  am  vexed  with  you,  Marie,  beyond  all  bounds. 
Here  you  are  the  idolized  wife  of  a  man  who  has  no 
superior,  and  yet  you  behave  as  if  you  were  determined 
to  make  yourself  and  him  perfectly  wretched.  I  have 
tried  my  best  to  break  up  the  polar  ice  between  you,  but 
am  convinced  that  no  one  can  do  it  save  yourself." 

"  He  does  not  wish  it  broken." 

"  Sheer  nonsense  !  —  when  you  are  the  very  apple  of 
his  eye ! " 

Marion  shook  her  head. 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  what  I  affirm,  but  he  is  too  deli- 
cate to  be  intrusive ;  and  so  he  dons  an  impenetrable 
reserve.  I  am  out  of  patience  with  you  both,  but  far 
the  most  with  you.  /  am  proud,  but  if  I  stood  in  your 
place,  Marie,  not  an  hour  should  pass  before  the  sweet 
sunshine  was  raying  into  both  our  souls." 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

20 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINES~  433 

"  Extract  those  poisoned  arrows  which  you  planted 
in  that  generous  heart,  and  which  have  never  ceased 
to  rankle  there.  And  yet,  if  you  would  only  give  him 
one  look  of  affection,  he  would  instantly  forgive  and  for- 
get his  cruel  wrongs.  How  you,  of  all  persons,  can  rest 
short  of  this,  is  a  strange  mystery !  " 

"  You  know  nothing  of  the  difficulties.  Even  now 
my  crushed  heart  cannot  always  pardon  him  that  fatal 
step.  And  though  I  sometimes  long  for  his  restored 
friendship,  love  is  another  and  harder  thing." 

"  Marion  !  Marion  !  —  for  your  own  sake,  forbear !  I 
could  not  have  believed  this  of  you,  —  so  bitterly  un- 
just to  one  who  would  sacrifice  his  life  for  your  sake 
—  so  cold  and  unloving  —  !  "  And,  overcome  by  her 
own  emotion,  she  burst  into  passionate  tears. 

Marion  could  not  resist  this,  and,  putting  her  arms 
tenderly  around  her,  she  said,  — 

"  I  will  try  to  feel  right ;  and  to-morrow  I  will  be 
amiable  and  do  as  you  wish." 

"  To-morrow,  Marie  ?  Do  not  sleep  again  I  entreat, 
till  you  are  at  peace  with  one  another." 

"  But  it  is  too  late." 

"  That  makes  no  difference,  for  he  never  retires  early. 
Night  after  night  I  hear  him  pacing  his  room." 

"  I  cannot  go  now,  for  I  could  not  sincerely  say  all 
you  wish  to  have  me.  I  arn  not  prepared  to  receive 
him  as  my  husband,  and  I  might  only  make  the  matter 
worse." 

Disheartened,  Lenora  made  no  reply,  and  immedi- 
ately withdrew.  The  friends  had  parted  in  mutual 
displeasure.  But  those  searching  words  gradually  un- 
veiled Marion's  heart  to  her  own  view.  And  during  that 
almost  sleepless  night,  thought  was  busily  at  work. 


434  MARION   GUAHAM  ; 

Her  self-accusations  grew  more  and  more  acute.  Not 
another  day  would  she  delay  some  attempt  at  a  better 
understanding.  Not  another  day !  Oh,  why  are  we  all 
so  stupidly  blind  ? 

The  tedious  hours  of  darkness  at  length  wore  away. 
Through  the  snowy  curtains  the  soft  morning  rays  stole 
into  Marion's  room,  rousing  her  from  the  uneasy  slum- 
bers into  which  she  had  fallen.  But  they  could  not 
reach  her  sick  heart,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  the  pillows. 
Suddenly,  quick  footsteps  fell  bodingly  on  her  ear.  She 
entered  Lenora's  room.  It  was  deserted.  Leaving  it, 
she  met  her  on  the  stair-way.  Her  friend  gave  her  one 
sorrowful  glance,  and  then  led  her  back  to  her  own 
chamber,  saying,  — 

"  Be  composed,  dear  Marion !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  exclaimed  in  tones  of  alarm. 

"  It  seems  he  has  been  struggling  against  disease  for 
some  days.  You  must  have  noticed  how  frightfully 
pale  he  was  last  evening.  During  the  night,  his  mother, 
hearing  unusual  sounds  in  his  room,  went  in,  and  found 
him  in  a  delirious  fever." 

Marion  stepped  towards  the  door. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  Henry,  — to  my  dear  husband." 

"  Poor  child !  It  is  too  late,"  Lenora  murmured  to 
herself,  adding  audibly,  "  The  doctor  is  with  him,  and 
you  must  wait  till  we  hear." 

"  I  will  not  wait." 

"  His  mother  shall  come  to  you  directly." 

When  Mrs.  Sunderland  complied  with  Lenora's  re- 
quest, she  was  startled  by  Marion's  haggard  appearance. 
She  threw  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck,  sobbing 
out,  "  Forgive  me !  " 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN*    HAPPINESS  435 

"  Most  heartily,  my  dear  child." 

"  And  you  will  let  me  go  to  him  ?  " 

"  He  has  the  brain-fever,  and  the  doctor  says  we 
must  keep  him  in  an  oblivious  state,  so  far  as  possible. 
It  would  excite  him  to  see  you,  and  I  should  fear  the 
result." 

Marion's  sorrow  was  pitiful  to  behold.  Mrs.  Sun- 
derland  kindly  soothed  her,  saying,  — 

"  This  trial  is  very  hard  to  bear,  but  it  is  ordered  by 
One  who  cannot  err.  And  for  dear  Henry's  sake,  you 
will  control  your  feelings.  Pray  for  him,  and  for  us 
all." 

Alas !  poor  heart !  into  what  a  yawning  gulf  is  it 
now  plunged !  What  concentrated  bitterness  is  com- 
pressed into  that  moment !  "  I  have  murdered  him," 
she  said  to  herself. 

Then  flashed  upon  her  reeling  brain  —  startling  as  if 
a  ghostly  voice  had  echoed  them  —  her  own  frantic 
words  of  maddening  cruelty.  Then  too,  an  evil 
thought,  which,  in  a  moment  of  blind  reverie  had  flit- 
ted through  her  like  a  bird  of  ill  omen  —  that  thought 
came  back  in  a  sudden  blaze.  It  lighted  up,  with  ter- 
rible distinctness,  the  secret  chambers  of  her  heart;  —  it 
flared  out  upon  their  shaded  walls,  hung  round  with 
sweet  but  forbidden  imagery  —  revealing,  in  dread  trans- 
parency, the  sins  she  had  unconsciously  indulged.  That 
thought  —  it  came  —  it  went  —  it  had  never  returned. 
It  was  but  this  —  "  If  I  were  only  free  !  "  Yet  oh  !  how 
much  was  hidden  there  !  And  now,  in  solemn  retribu- 
tion, that  same  thought  —  written  out  in  lurid  light,  at 
one  moment  looked  mockingly  within  her  shrinking 
eyes ;  anon,  it  crept  over  her  with  shudderings  which 
forced  cold  drops  upon  her  brow ;  and  again  it  lashed 


436  MARION   GRAHAM; 

her  as  if  it  were  an  avenging  fury.  And  to  aggravate 
her  sharp  remorse,  there  floated  from  out  the  darkness 
of  the  past,  kindly  memories  of  him  who  now  lay  near 
the  dim  Border  Land  ;  —  of  his  rescuing  her  from  un- 
told misery  and  disgrace,  of  the  fervor  of  his  long, 
unselfish  devotion,  of  his  generous  sympathy,  his  broth- 
erly counsel  and  cheer.  There  came  also  touching 
recollections  of  his  womanly  tenderness,  when  he  found 
her  bruised  and  bleeding — of  his  protecting,  reverent 
affection ;  and  of  his  delicate,  unwearied  eiforts  to 
win  her  from  consuming  regret,  to  a  sweet  and  enduring 
repose  on  his  broad  bosom.  Nor  did  she  forget  his  gen- 
tle treatment  when  that  stunning  discovery  burst  upon 
her,  —  his  sad  patience  under  her  frenzied  reproaches,  — 
his  mild,  uncomplaining  forbearance  with  her  continued 
resentment,  —  his  considerate  withdrawal  from  her 
presence,  and  his  late  unobtrusive  kindness.  And  had 
he  not  suffered  equally  with  her  ?  But  what  return  had 
she  made  for  his  boundless,  enduring  love?  What 
sympathy  had  she  given  him,  borne  down  as  he  had 
been,  under  the  burden  of  his  mute  sorrows?  Alas! 
alas !  she  had  cast  from  her  a  jewel,  outweighing  in 
value  California's  uncounted  wealth.  Awake  to  his 
priceless  worth,  —  it  was  too  late  ! 

She  darkened  her  room  —  she  flung  herself  upon  the 
floor  —  and  her  smitten  spirit  writhed  in  all  its  im- 
measurable self-reproach  and  agony.  Prostrate,  she 
bared  her  soul  before  Heaven,  while  from  the  depths  of 
contrition  she  pleaded  in  voiceless  prayer  for  pardon 
and  for  strength.  Prostrate,  her  heart  breathed  its  ear- 
nest resolve  —  from  that  moment  to  banish  all  vain  re- 
grets and  perilous  dreamings,  all  morbid  indulgencies 
and  forbidden  yearnings. 


OK,  HK;III-;I;  THAN  HAPPINKSS.  437 

"  O  God  !  spare  my  husband,  —  and  in  thy  presence 
I  vow  that  henceforth  he  shall  be  my  earthly  all.  Every 
thought  and  wish  and  feeling,  every  hope  and  joy, 
every  aspiration  and  energy  of  my  being,  shall  centre, 
first  in  Thee,  and  then  in  him." 

She  arose  pale  and  calm.  It  was  a  crisis  in  her  soul's 
history.  From  lhat  solemn  moment  she  was  a  changed 
being.  No  longer  attempting  to  satisfy  herself  with 
mere  external  duties,  she  entered  upon  her  new  course 
with  all  the  earnestness  of  a  thoroughly  repentant  heart. 
It  was  affecting  to  see  one,  recently  so  absorbed  in  her 
own  griefs,  now  so  self-forgetful,  so  meek,  so  consider- 
ate for  all  around  her. 

"  God  knew  where  to  lay  his  finger  on  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Sunderland.  "  But  poor  Henry  may  pass  away, 
and  never  know  the  change." 

"  He  will  live,"  replied  Lenora,  with  energy.  As  she 
spoke  she  returned  a  paper  to  Mrs.  Sunderland,  adding, 
"  It  would  break  her  heart  to  read  that." 

At  this  moment  Marion  entered,  and  catching  her 
last  words,  she  asked,  "  What  is  it,  Lenora  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  but  a  fragment."  And  she  looked  at 
Mrs.  Sunderland. 

"  My  dear  child,  it  is  the  commencement  of  a  letter 
to  you  from  Henry,  which  I  found  on  his  desk,  and 
concluded  it  was  not  best  to  give  you.  But  as  you 
have  heard  it  named,  it  is  for  you  to  determine  what 
shall  be  done  with  it.'1 

Unable  to  speak,  Marion  held  out  her  hand.  It  was 
written  on  the  evening  preceding  his  sickness,  perhaps 
at  the  moment  when  Lenora  was  urging  her  to  go  to 
him: 


438  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

u  The  thought,  Marion,  of  the  utter  wretchedness  into 
which  I  have  plunged  you,  is  wearing  away  my  life. 
My  brain  is  strangely  oppressed ;  my  heart  is  sinking. 
The  sight  of  me  is  a  continual  torture  to  you.  I  feel 
this  more  and  more.  I  must  flee  from  your  presence, 
and  thus  give  you  the  only  relief  in  my  power.  In  a 
few  days  I  sail  for  Europe.  O  Marion,  Marion!  — 
still  too  dear !  would  that  I  could  make  you  free ! 
Would  that " 

Marion  welcomed  the  pain  this  occasioned.  Suffering 
was  a  penance  which  her  soul  coveted.  And  when,  on 
passing  the  door,  she  caught  the  ravings  of  delirium ; 
when  she  heard  Henry  talking  wildly  of  his  intended 
departure  ;  passionately  calling  upon  her  name  ;  adjur- 
ing her  to  be  merciful ;  to  grant  him  but  one  forgiving 
look,  and  he  would  then  go  from  her,  and  die  content- 
edly;—  when  she  listened  to  all  this  again  and  again, 
nhe  only  laid  her  white  hands  across  her  throbbing 
bosom,  and  meekly  whispered,  "  I  deserve  it  all." 

As  the  sufferer  often  earnestly  begged  to  see  Maurice 
Vinton,  Mrs.  Sunderland  at  length  sent  him  a  letter, 
informing  him  of  her  son's  dangerous  sickness,  and  beg- 
ging him,  if  possible,  to  come  to  them.  With  this 
request  he  complied  without  an  hour's  delay. 

The  subdued  meeting  between  him  and  Marion  was 
in  striking  contrast  with  their  last.  He  had  looked  for 
help  to  the  everlasting  hills,  and  was  borne  high  above 
the  range  of  earthly  joys  and  sorrows.  And  from  her 
idolatrous  heart,  the  confronting  and  avenging  face  of 
death  had  suddenly  and  forever  crushed  out  that  ab- 
sorbing passion,  which  she  could  no  longer  innocently 
indulge.  Henceforward  Maurice  and  Henry  had  changed 


OR,   HIGHER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  439 

places  in  her  heart.  The  lover  was  now  the  friend  and 
brother. 

They  did  not  meet  till  after  he  had  seen  the  invalid. 
Then,  having  quietly  exchanged  salutations,  she  asked 
in  an  almost  inaudible  voice,  — 

"Will  he  live?" 

"  It  is  possible,  but  not  probable." 

"  O  Maurice  !  entreat  God  to  be  merciful ! "  —  and  sobs 
interrupted  her. 

"  We  will  both  wrestle  for  his  life,  but  we  must  not 
forget  to  add,  '  Thy  will  be  done.'  Believe  me,  it  is  in 
love  that  this  trial  is  sent," 

As  Maurice  found  that  his  presence  was  a  great 
comfort  to  the  family,  he  concluded  to  remain  and 
devote  himself  to  the  sick  chamber,  whence  poor 
Marion  was  debarred  an  entrance. 

The  crisis  at  length  approached.  A  single  night 
would  determine  the  fierce  straggle  between  life  and 
death.  Since  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  Maurice 
preferred  to  watch  alone,  especially  as  the  others  were 
worn  by  constant  attendance.  With  the  promise,  there- 
fore, of  being  called  in  case  of  any  change,  Mrs.  Sun- 
derland  and  Lenora  with  the  faithful  Polly  who  had 
been  sent  for,  retired  to  rest.  But  Marion,  still  more 
worn  by  remorse  and  misery,  had  no  thought  of  sleep. 
All  that  lingering  night  she  spent  upon  her  knees,  rising 
only  to  steal  to  the  door  of  the  sick  room.  Once,  when 
there,  Maurice  came  out  and  beckoned  her  to  enter, 
whispering,  "  It  is  safe  now,  for  he  is  unconscious." 
How  those  words  smote  her! 

For  the  first  time,  she  stood  beside  his  bed.  As  she 
fixed  her  gaze  upon  that  wasted  face,  whose  ghastly 
pallor  seemed  that  of  death,  her  blood  curdled,  and  hrr 


440  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

heart  beat  audibly.  He  lay  motionless  and  silent  as 
the  grave,  except  an  occasional  low  moan.  At  length 
even  the  moaning  died  away,  and  only  an  irregular, 
scarcely  perceptible  breathing,  gave  token  of  life.  In 
that  presence,  how  was  her  sin  rebuked !  Sick  at  heart, 
Marion  turned  away.  Maurice  joined  her  in  the  hall, 
saying  in  a  low  voice,  "  To-night,  Marion,  we  must 
pray  with  intense  fervor  and  faith !  God  have  pity  on 
yon  !  "  And  they  went  their  separate  way. 

Till  the  pale  morning  broke,  there  was  no  interrup- 
tion to  her  prayerful  vigils  —  no  cessation  to  the  tears  and 
cries  she  poured  out  before  God.  With  The  first  ray  of 
light,  she  again  crept  silently  to  the  door.  Maurice 
stepped  out  and  pressed  her  cold  hands,  saying,  "  God 
has  heard  you,  my  sister.  He  will  live" 


The  invalid  was  slowly  making  progress.  As  his 
mind  cleared,  he  would  often  look  wistfully  in  the  faces 
of  those  about  him.  Footsteps  were  never  heard,  but 
that  he  looked  eagerly  to  the  door,  invariably  turning 
away  disappointed.  There  was  one  for  whom  he 
always  watched.  She  never  came. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  can  control  yourself  ?  "  asked 
Maurice  one  day. 

Divining  his  purpose,  Marion  eagerly  assented,  and 
he  continued, — 

"  We  have  appointed  you  as  watcher  for  to-night." 

A  sweet  light  shone  out  of  her  eyes,  as  she  in- 
quired, "  But  what  if  he  should  awake  and  know  me  ?  " 

"  He  probably  will  do  so,  in  which  case  your  own 
instincts  must  guide  you.     His  disease  has  left  him,  but 
he  needs  a  cordial  which  only  you  can  administer." 
20* 


OK,    HIGHEU    THAN    HAPPINESS.  441 

Since  that  fated  and  fatal  day,  Marion  had  laid  aside 
all  those  garments  which  had  been  associated  with  their 
brief  season  of  love.  Now,  she  looked  over  that  dis- 
carded clothing,  selecting  Henry's  favorite  dress  for  her 
coming  vigils. 

With  something  more  of  color  in  her  cheeks  than 
they  had  worn  for  months,  and  with  a  heart  whose  pul- 
sations were  strangely  quickened,  she  stole  into  the 
room.  Seating  herself  where  she  could  see  without 
being  seen,  she  gazed  on  the  sufferer's  pale  face,  and 
watched  his  quiet  breathing.  Tender  and  solemn 
thoughts  crowded  upon  her,  and  a  holy  prayer  rose  in 
her  soul  for  blessings  upon  his  head,  which  no  earthly 
language  could  express. 

At  the  time  directed,  she  bent  over  him  to  moisten 
his  lips,  and  venturing  to  linger  a  moment,  her  fond 
gaze  was  fastened  upon  his  face.  Was  it  a  magnetic 
consciousness  that  led  him  to  open  his  eyes  ?  She  fell 
on  her  knees,  and  taking  his  hand  in  both  hers,  she  said, 
—  it  was  all  she  could  say  —  "  DEAR  HENRY  ! " 


442  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

Now  "  o'er  the  deep  seas  there  is  calm, 
Full  as  the  hush  of  all  heaven's  psalm ; 
The  golden  goal,  the  victor's  palm ! 

And  at  her  heart  Love  sits  and  sings, 
And  broodeth  warmth-begetting  wings 
Shall  lift  her  life  to  higher  things." 

WHAT  a  wondrous  summer-morning  was  that,  which, 
softly  rising,  found  Marion  still  lingering  at  Henry's 
bedside,  her  hand  clasped  in  his !  A  flood  of  yellow 
sunshine,  streaming  through  the  open  casement,  quivered 
in  golden  wavelets  upon  the  wall.  Never  before  looked 
sunshine  so  bright  to  those  gazing  eyes ;  never  was 
the  sighing  breeze  so  heavy-laden  with  delicious  per- 
fumes ;  never  did  the  silvery  warbling  of  the  birds  fall 
so  ravishingly  upon  those  two  hearts,  as  now,  while 
gently  rippling  through  their  loving  words. 

It  needed  no  necromancer's  art  to  reveal  to  the  ten- 
der mother  the  passage  of  that  night  And  while  pro- 
nouncing her  benison,  who  should  look  in  but  Lenora  ? 
Shaking  her  finger  at  the  happy  group,  she  said  to 
Marion,  — 

"  A  pretty  watcher  you  make !  Why,  our  patient 
don't  look  as  if  he  had  slept  an  eye  full.  See  if  we 
trust  you  again  !  And  yet,  somehow,  his  countenance 
is  marvellously  improved.  I  do  believe  you  have  been 
feeding  him  with  cordials  all  night  long ;  —  has  she  not, 
reverend  sir  ?  " 


OH,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  443 

"  She  has  given  me  the  very  elixir  of  life,"  replied  Mr. 
Sunderland,  extending  his  hand.  "And  now,  dear  Le- 
nora,"  he  continued  in  an  earnest  tone,  "  you  must  let 
me  thank  you  for  all  your  sisterly  attentions  in  this  sick 
room.  But  more  than  this,  Marion  has  told  me  some 
things,  which  make  me  feel  how  much  I  am  a  debtor 
to  your  true  friendship  for  us  both."  And  he  held  her 
hand  in  both  his. 

Tears  sprang  to  Lenora's  eyes,  and  having  in  vain 
tried  to  laugh  off  her  emotion,  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  The  disease  is  contagious.  We  are  all  bound  to 
struggle  with  it.  And  here  comes  another  victim!  Be- 
ware, Mr.  Vinton,  or  you  will  certainly  be  deluged  by 
this  infectious  flood !  " 

"  I  have  waited  for  this  hour."  And  taking  Marion's 
hand,  he  placed  it  in  Henry's,  and  pressing  them  to- 
gether, he  fervently  exclaimed,  — 

"  God  bless  you,  my  brother  and  sister  !  "  while  a  tear 
dropped  upon  their  clasped  hands. 

No  unmoistened  eye  beheld  that  scene ;  and  the  prayer 
he  there  offered,  no  one  hearing  it,  ever  forgot. 

But  had  Maurice,  then,  so  easily  laid  to  sleep  the  wild 
cravings  of  his  heart?  Could  he  be  in  the  presence  of 
her  who,  for  years,  had  been  enshrined  in  his  soul,  and 
no  secret  throbbings  of  his  passion  disturb  him  ?  Ask 
the  burning  stars,  which  had  looked  down  upon  his 
midnight  struggles !  Ask  the  listening  moon,  which 
had  caught  the  fearful  sobbings  of  his  grief !  Ask  the 
heavens,  to  which  he  had  sent  up  his  agonizing  cries  for 
strength  to  drain  the  bitter  cup ! 

Nay  !  not  without  many  a  fearful  conflict  had  even 
outward  composure  been  maintained.  But  the  secret 


444  M A RIOX  GRAHAM; 

of  the  Lord  was  with  him,  and  in  His  heart  were  the 
hidings  of  power.  From  the  pulsations  of  infinite  love, 
was  his  strength  derived.  The  deep  mystery  of  Chris- 
tian endurance,  and  of  holy  joy  in  this  endurance,  is  high 
up  on  a  celestial  plane  far  beyond  the  worldling's  ken. 
If  a  child  of  God  is  cast  into  the  furnace,  seven  times 
heated,  it  is  "  that  the  trial  of  his  faith,  being  much 
more  precious  than  of  gold  that  perisheth,  though  it  be 
tried  with  fire,  might  be  found  unto  praise  and  honor 
and  glory  at  the  appearing  of  Jetus  Christ." 

And  Lenora,  too,  was  still  in  the  furnace.  "  Happy 
Marion  !  "  —  she  exclaimed  when  in  the  solitude  of  her 
own  chamber,  —  "  thrice  happy  in  the  love  of  that  noble 
heart !  What  a  heaven  of  bliss  shines  out  of  those  glo- 
rious eyes !  If  I  should  meet  one  such  glance  as  he 

gives  to  her .  But  what  nonsense !  God  helping 

me,  nobody  shah1  dream  what  a  sepulchre  my  heart  is." 

Such  noble  deeds  as  Lenora's  never  go  unrewarded. 
And  in  due  time,  perchance,  the  glad  sunlight  shall 
softly  steal  in  among  those  ruins,  and  cause  a  fresh 
spring-time  of  joy. 


When  Mr.  Vinton  returned  to  the  city,  a  young  heart 
was  in  warm  expectancy.  The  door-bell  had  scarcely 
rung,  when  childish  footsteps  were  heard  in  the  hall, 
and  Alice's  arms  were  twined  round  his  neck.  He  led 
her  into  his  pleasant  parlor,  and  seating  himself  in  the 
arm-chair,  which  she  had  already  drawn  out,  he  took 
her  on  his  lap.  But  Alice  had  no  words  for  him  that 
day.  And  when  he  attempted  to  look  into  her  face, 
she  hid  it  on  his  shoulder,  while  her  golden  curls  fell 
about  her  like  a  glittering  veil. 


OK,   HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  445 

«  What  is  the  matter,  my  bird  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  clear  eyes,  as  deeply  blue  as  the  sum- 
mer heavens,  while,  with  an  earnest  gaze,  she  tremu- 
lously replied,  — 

"  The  school  girls  say  you  are  going  to  China,  never 
to  return." 

And  then  the  full  fountain  overflowed.  For  a  long 
time  he  held  her  to  his  heart  in  silence.  At  length  he 
said,  — 

"  That  is  a  great  ways  off  yet,  Alice,  so  far  that  I  did 
not  think  it  necessary  to  tell  you." 

"  When  ?  "  she  inquired  through  her  sobs. 

"  A  whole  year  —  time  enough  for  us  to  have  a  great 
deal  of  happiness." 

"  That  does  not  make  it  much  better,  for  I  shall  be 
thinking  of  it  all  the  while,  and  I  shall  never  be  happy 
another  minute  after  I  have  lost  you." 

As  she  broke  out  into  fresh  weeping,  he  laid  his  hand 
on  her  head,  and  asked,  — 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

Her  look  of  innocent  surprise  was  a  sufficient  an- 
swer. 

"  Would  you  go  anywhere  for  my  sake  ?  " 

Her  quick  assent  was  eloquence. 

"  Well,  Alice,  I  have  a  friend  who  has  done  infinitely 
more  for  me  than  I  have  ever  done  for  you.  There  are 
a  great  many  in  this  dark  world  who  have  never  heard 
his  name,  and  he  has  called  me  to  go  and  tell  them  the 
story  of  his  love.  You  understand,  for  my  Friend  is 
also  your  Friend.  Now,  would  you  keep  me  back  ?  " 

Slowly  she  shook  her  head,  while  her  face  was  full  of 
thought.  After  a  brief  silence,  looking  up  wistfully, 
she  said, — 


440  MAKION     (IKAII  \M  ; 

"  If  the  Saviour  is  calling  you,  I  think  he  is  calling 
me  too.  So,  dear  uncle,  when  I  have  learned  all  you 
wish  to  have  me,  may  I  not  come  out  to  China  and  help 
you  ?  You  know  I  could  talk  to  the  little  children." 

As  he  hesitated,  she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
entreating,  — 

"  Do  say  yes." 

Smiling  at  her  eagerness,  he  gently  replied, — 

"  Yes,  then,  dear  child,  —  if  at  that  time  your  mind  is 
unchanged." 

"  It  will  be,  it  will  be,"  she  exclaimed,  clapping  her 
hands.  "  I  shall  never  forget  your  promise.'' 

As  she  spoke,  her  face  assumed  an  expression  of 
affecting  earnestness,  while  she  solemnly  folded  her 
little  hands,  and  looked  up,  as  if  registering  in  heaven 
the  vow  of  her  heart. 

Years  after,  in  his  lonely  wanderings  on  a  distant 
shore,  often  did  that  saintly  ehild  rise  on  his  vision,  as 
she  looked  in  her  infantile  consecration,  —  while  those 
deep  violet  eyes,  so  pure  in  their  spiritual  light,  seemed 
again  to  gaze  into  his  own. 

Serene  and  bright  were  those  summer  days  at  the 
parsonage,  which  followed  the  night  of  reconciliation; 
It  seemed  as  if  Henry  Sunderland  could  hardly  remove 
his  eyes  from  Marion;  indeed,  her  countenance  was 
beautiful  in  its  fresh  light  of  happiness  and  love.  She 
had  suffered  so  long  and  variously,  so  acutely  and 
almost  hopelessly,  that  her  present  calm  content  was 
inexpressibly  sweet  She  had  not  forgotten  Maurice, 
but  she  felt  that  he  had  soared  above  her,  and  needed 
not  her  sympathy.  And  —  for  her  husband  —  no  lan- 
guage could  express  his  bliss.  As  he  drank  rich  draughts 


Oil,    H10HEK   THAN    11  Al'l'lNKHS.  447 

from  that  wclJ-spring  of  love,  now  ever  gushing  for  him 
in  Marion's  heart,  the  long  thirsting  of  his  eoul  was 
satisfied. 

In  the  biiltny  June  weather  he  wan  rapidly  regaining 
his  strength,  and  wan  now  able  to  take  drives,  and  to 
walk  slowly  round  the  garden,  while  Marion  was  ever 
at  his  Hide. 

"  You  look  worn,"  said  he  to  her  one  day. 

"  I  have  a  Hlight  headache,  that  is  all." 

"  You  must  take  a  long  walk  with  Lenora." 

"  Not  tiU  you  ean  go  with  me." 

"  Nay,  you  must  go  now ;  quit  your  work,  both  of 
you." 

"  May  I  not  have  permission  just  to  finish  this  little 
piece  ?  "  asked  Lenora  in  a  saucy  tone. 

«  Not  another  stitch." 

"  Capital !"  exclaimed  she,  clapping  her  hands.  "  That 
positively  sounds  like  the  olden  times.  All  things  must 
be  going  on  surprisingly,  now  that  you  domineer  over 
us  once  more.  What  a  real  tyrant  it  is!"  added  she, 
making  a  rnoek  curtsey  as  she  went  to  prepare  herself. 

She  was  to  leave  town  the  next  day,  and  the  friends 
had  much  to  talk  about,  while  they  strolled  far  from 
tin-,  village.  As  they  sat  together  on  a  shady  knoll, 
with  sunny  streamlets  singing  in  their  ear,  Marion  ex- 
claimed, 

"  How  I  wish  I  could  see  you  happy  in  loving  and 
being  beloved ! " 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  go  fashing  your  brains  about  that, 
Mistress  Sunderland.  I  am  very  well  as  I  am,  and  I 
will  endeavor  not  to  disgrace  the  sisterhood.  It  is  a 
glorious  independence." 

"  But  seriously,  dear  Lenora,"  replied  Marion,  putting 


448  MARION  GRAHAM; 

her  arm  coaxingly  around  her,  "please  lay  your  banter- 
ing aside,  and  let  me  peep  into  that  same  independent 
heart." 

"Away  with  you  for  a  spy!  I  have  no  idea  of  hav- 
ing my  secrets  read  and  proclaimed." 

"  But  I  have  kept  that  one  secret  most  faithfully. 
Will  you  not,  then,  trust  me  with  more  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  discover,  madam  ?  "  And 
lifting  up  her  eyes,  Marion  saw  that  a  mist  lay  over 
them. 

"  I  only  want  your  promise  for  a  few  things." 

"  Name  them  ! " 

"  That  you  will  bury  the  past ;  that  you  will  lay 
aside  that  brusque  air  which  does  you  such  injus- 
tice ;  and  —  last,  but  not  least  —  that  you  will  open  the 
doors  of  your  heart.  For  surely  you  will  not  deny  that 
you  would  be  happier  in  the  affection  of  some  worthy 
object,  than  in  your  boasted  independence." 

With  a  somewhat  astringent  tone,  she  replied,  — 

"  Wonderfully  magnanimous  !  You  know  my  ideal. 
I  shall  not  offer  homage  before  any  object  on  a  lower 
pedestal.  To  marry  simply  for  the  sake  of  marrying,  I 
never  will;  therefore  I  am  destined  for  the  maiden 
ranks.  Q.  E.  D.  Art  thou  answered  ?  " 

A  few  weeks  after  this  conversation,  Mr.  Sunderland 
received  a  letter  from  Maurice,  from  which  we  make 
some  extracts. 

"  Since  I  came  to  Reton,  I  have  met  with  ministers 
and  Christians  of  all  denominations,  and  have  enjoyed 
much  in  their  intercourse.  But  it  pains  me  to  find  so 
strong  a  sectarian  feeling  ;  to  see  how,  in  discussions  pro- 
fessedly for  the  truth's  sake,  prejudice  and  passion  creep 


OR,    H 10  HER   THAN   HAPPINESS.  449 

in,  and,  imbittering  their  spirit,  swerve  men  aside.  If 
it  is  important  to  rear  these  high  walls  of  demarcation, 
it  certainly  cannot  be  necessary  to  labor  upon  them 
so  continually.  Oh  that  all  Christians  would  leave 
their  hair-splitting  metaphysics,  their  bitter,  and  often 
worse  than  profitless  controversies,  and,  burning  with 
love  to  Christ,  would  labor,  with  one  heart,  to  satisfy 
the  hungerings  of  immortal  souls! 

You  ask  my  views  as  to  the  question  so  ab- 
sorbing at  the  present  time  ;  what  is  to  become  of  the 
millions  who  are  continually  passing  into  the  other 
.  life  without  having  heard  of  a  Saviour  ?  Upon  this 
question,  pressing  so  heavily  on  the  mind  and  heart, 
yet  concerning  which  so  little  is  positively  revealed,  I, 
of  all  persons,  so  recent  a  convert  to  the  Christian 
faith,  should  speak  with  diffidence.  I  can  only  say 
that  the  more  I  study  the  subject,  the  greater  is  my 
questioning  whether  our  present  fallen  condition 
can  be  called  in  any  true  sense  a  state  of  probation. 
The  central  idea  of  the  Bible  is  Redemption.  It  shows 
us  God  everywhere  inviting,  persuading,  influencing 
his  prodigal  children  to  return  to  themselves  and  to 
Him.  And  His  providence,  as  seen  in  life  and  un- 
folded in  history,  seems  to  indicate,  not  a  probationary 
scheme,  but  one  of  discipline  and  training  in  the 
working-out  of  His  great  redemptive  plan.  I  should 
require  far  more  explicit  proof  than  I  have  yet  found 
in  Scripture  to  convince  me  that  this  redemptive  work 
is  absolutely  limited  to  this  earthly  life.  Nor  have  I 
found  evidence  for  regarding  the  definite  presentation 
of  the  personal  or  historic  Christ  as  a  necessary  con- 
dition of  salvation.  If  a  man  is  warmed  and  blessed 
by  the  sun,  blind  though  he  be,  why  may  not  one  who 


450  MARION   GRAHAM; 

from  his  very  environment  is  blind  to  spiritual  things 
be  warmed  and  blessed  by  rays  from  the  Sun  of  Right- 
eousness? Dare  we  affirm  that  in  those  regions  lying 
in  the  shadows  of  night,  Christ's  redemptive  work 
may  not  be  going  on  in  ways  unknown  to  us,  even  if 
only  in  a  preliminary  preparation  for  the  dawn  of  day? 

Suppose  one  of  the  three  wise  men  from  the  East 
had  died  on  his  way  to  the  manger,  seeking  Jesus, 
but  not  having  found  him,  seeing  the  Star  of  Bethle 
hem,  but  not  the  rising  Sun !  Would  he  have  been 
doomed  to  hell,  while  the  others,  who  found  what 
they  sought,  were  admitted  into  heaven? 

I  have  been  told  of  an  educated  Corean  who,  hav- 
ing caught  rumors  of  Christianity,  longed  to  know 
what  it  was.  For  this  purpose  he  entered  a  mission 
school,  but  as  the  teachers  were  forbidden  to  give  re- 
ligious instruction,  he  got  nothing  that  satisfied  him. 
Calling  one  day  on  a  medical  missionary,  he  discov- 
ered, while  waiting  alone,  a  Chinese  copy  of  one  of 
the  gospels.  This  he  quietly  put  into  his  pocket,  and 
not  till  he  had  read  it  through  did  he  sleep  that  night. 
The  next  day  he  went  back  to  the  missionary,  and, 
holding  up  the  book,  exclaimed,  *  This  is  good.  This 
is  what  I icant?  And  it  proved  to  him  a  saving  gos- 
pel. Suppose  his  summons  to  the  other  life  had  come 
before  he  found  this  gospel.  Entering  the  gates  hun- 
gering for  bread,  can  we  believe  that  Christ  would 
have  given  him  a  stone  ? 

Does  not  God  judge  the  character  by  its  direction 
rather  than  its  position  ?  its  tendency  rather  than  its 
attainment?  And  may  there  not  be  many  souls  in 
thick  darkness,  yet  in  some  blind  way  seeking  the 
light,  far  away  from  God,  yet  moving,  however  indi- 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  451 

rectly,  towards  him,  although  they  may  reach  him 
only  in  the  bright  dawn  of  the  eternal  day  ? 

All  the  worship  of  some  higher  power  in  the  various 
religions  of  the  heathen  ;  all  the  ethical  truth  con- 
tained in  their  sacred  books ;  all  their  efforts  to  rid 
themselves  of  sin  by  washings  in  the  Jordan  or  the 
Ganges ;  all  their  self-inflicted  penances  and  tortures  ; 
all  their  blind  gropings  and  feeble  aspirings  after 
good,  however  mingled  with  lower  and  debasing  ele- 
ments,—  all  these  things,  it  seems  to  me,  we  must  con- 
sider as  the  working  of  Christ's  redemptive  forces  in 
the  human  life.  Surely  He  catches  these  inarticulate 
cries  for  pardon  and  cleansing. 

I  am  tempted  to  quote  a  passage  from  a  well-known 
Calvinist,  Leonard  Woods,of  Andover  Theological  Sem- 
inary, written  forty  years  ago  to  an  afflicted  daughter:  — 

*  It  appears  from  several  passages  of  Scripture  that 
God,  instead  of  falling  short  of  what  the  holy  and 
benevolent  wish  for,  intends  to  do  exceedingly  abun- 
dantly more  than  they  can  ask  or  think  ;  and  that  they 
tvill  say  the  one  half  ivas  not  told  them.1 

I  imagine  that  many  of  our  difficulties  grow  out  of 
our  crude  and  false  ideas  of  the  spiritual  world. 
What  is  heaven  but  to  be  with  God,  in  whose  presence, 
to  the  soul  that  abideth  in  Him,  is  fulness  of  joy? 

And  what  is  hell  but  absence  from  God,  —  that  ab- 
sence which  is  inevitable  to  every  soul  that  is  wholly 
given  up  to  selfishness,  not  merely  in  its  gross  and 
sometimes  hideous  forms,  but  also  to  that  aesthetic 
selfishness  of  the  refined  and  cultured,  which  seeketh 
only  its  own  ?  To  all  such  souls,  the  atmosphere  of 
heaven  would  be  full  of  torments,  and  the  presence  of 
God  a  consuming  fire.  Is  not  this  the  outer  darkness  ¥ 


452  MARION   GRAHAM; 

Such  a  soul  chooses  hell  as  his  home,  and  goes,  not 
by  an  arbitrary  fiat,  but  by  the  very  necessities  of  his 
being,  to  the  place  for  which  by  character  and  choice 
he  is  fitted.  *  Ye  mil  not  come  unto  me  that  ye  might 
have  life.' 

When  considering  this  painful  subject,  I  find  relief 
in  falling  back  upon  the  verities  which  I  have  come 
to  know  concerning  God.  In  accepting  the  doctrine 
of  the  Incarnation,  with  all  it  involves,  I  cannot  for 
one  moment  doubt  that  our  Father  will  do  for  each 
one  of  the  children  in  his  great  human  family  every 
thing  that  divine  love  and  wisdom,  with  all  their  infi- 
nite possibilities,  can  devise. 

Never  was  there  such  a  yearning  among  Christians 
for  the  seeking  and  saving  of  those  that  are  lost,  as  now. 
Whence  come  these  yearnings  but  from  the  Infinite 
Heart?  Will  not  He  who  'is  Love,'  whose  mercy  en- 
dureth  forever,  make  use  of  every  possible  means  to 
bring  back  into  the  fold  his  wandering  sheep? 

I  remember  hearing  George  MacDonald  assert  in  a 
sermon  I  once  heard  him  preach  in  London,  that  lie 
was  '  sure  Grod  would  give  every  man  a  chance? 

I  trust  it  is  not  presumption  for  me  to  say  that 
somewhere,  somehow,  somewhen,  I  believe,  —  I  cannot 
help  believing,  —  that  He  will  provide  an  opportunity 
for  every  one  to  behold  the  Light  of  the  world,  to  em- 
brace the  Life  of  the  world,  even  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

In  this  assurance  I  rest,  praying  that  I  may  be 
allowed  the  blessed  privilege  of  working  with  Him  in 
His  divine  plan  of  redeeming  our  race. 

As  to  those  harsh  dogmas  in  the  old  creeds  of 
which  I  have  written  so  freely,  and  to  which  some 
tenaciously  and  most  conscientiously  still  cling,  I 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  453 

have  very  slowly  learned  to  understand  how  in  the 
earlier  days  they  came  to  be  regarded  as  of  supreme 
importance,  and  were  zealously  advocated  by  earnest, 
kindly  theologians.  With  their  souls  on  fire  to  save 
lost  men,  by  their  lurid  presentations,  their  awful 
realistic  pictures,  they  sought  to  snatch  them  from 
that  literal  hell-fire  in  which  they  devoutly  believed. 
Thus  while  we  shudder  with  horror  at  their  terrible 
descriptions,  it  is  an  inexpressible  relief  that  we  may 
yet  think  of  these  old  divines  with  high  esteem  and 
reverence, 

I  am  sure,  however,  my  dear  brother,  of  your  agree- 
ment with  me  in  the  conviction  that  these  dreadful 
representations,  these  gross  misconceptions,  have 
proved  to  hundreds  and  thousands  a  rock  of  offence 
over  which  some  have  stumbled  into  infidelity  and 
others  into  despair. 

I  well  knew  a  man  of  the  highest  integrity,  unas- 
sailable by  the  most  insidious  temptations,  of  a  singu- 
lar purity  of  heart  and  life,  an  ardent  seeker  after 
truth,  a  man  who  was  a  leader  in  all  reforms  to  the 
extent  of  great  self-sacrifice,  a  devoted  husband  and 
father,  a  kind  neighbor  and  one  of  the  most  faithful 
of  friends ;  who  yet,  in  the  course  of  his  preparation 
for  the  ministry,  became  a  Free  Thinker.  'For, 
through  my  studies,'  he  writes,  'I  was  let  into  the 
Creed  Factories  of  the  Old  World,  which  quite 
knocked  the  bottom  out  of  my  faith.' 

This  man,  however,  so  lived  that  any  one  not  know- 
ing his  unbelief  would  have  assumed  that  he  was  a 
Christian.  He  was,  emphatically,  a  doer  of  righteous- 
ness. Says  one  whose  name  is  everywhere  honored 
and  who  knew  him  intimately  for  a  lifetime,  '  If  there 


454  MARION  GRAHAM; 

be  a  person  whose  spirit,  example,  and  life  have  em- 
bodied more  of  the  law  of  love,  the  Golden  Rule 
and  the  practical  unselfishness  of  the  Sermon  on  the 

Mount,  than  was  lived  out  by ,  him  or  her  /  have 

not  seen.' 

This  so-called  infidel  has  now  passed  into  the  other 
life.  Can  we  doubt  that  in  the  clear  light  of  that  life 
he  at  once  embraced  those  truths  which  had  been 
veiled  from  his  sight  by  repulsive  wrappings  woven 
of  distorted  views  and  cruel  falsities  ? 

In  that  delightful  book  Christus  Comummator,  Canon 
Westcott  remarks,  'We  are  peremptory  in  defining 
details  of  dogma  beyond  the  teaching  of  Scripture.' 

Was  not  this  the  case  with  the  Westminster 
divines  in  their  construction  of  the  much  discussed 
Confession  of  Faith?  Instead  of  deducing  their 
dogmas  from  the  Word  of  God,  they  formulated  them 
according  to  their  own  logical  notions.  And  it  was 
only  after  Parliament  refused  to  take  them  into  con- 
sideration till  they  were  fortified  by  Scripture  that 
they  went  to  hunting  up  their  proof  texts.  Shall  we 
make  a  fetich  of  a  document  thus  built  up? 

Says  one  of  our  most  popular  preachers,  —  'It  is 
impossible  that  people  who  lived  hundreds  of  years 
ago  should  fashion  an  appropriate  creed  for  our 
times.  John  Calvin  was  a  great  and  good  man,  but 
lie  died  three  hundred  and  twenty-six  years  ago.  The 
best  centuries  of  Bible  study  have  come  since  then, 
and  explorers  have  done  their  work,  and  you  might  as 
well  have  the  world  go  back  to  John  Gutenberg,  the 
inventor  of  the  art  of  printing,  and  reject  all  modern 
newspaper  presses;  and  go  back  to  the  time  when  teleg- 
raphy was  the  elevating  of  signals  or  the  burning  of 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  455 

bonfires  on  the  hilltops,  and  reject  the  magnetic  wire, 
which  is  the  tongue  of  nations,  as  to  ignore  all  the 
exegetes  and  the  philologists  and  the  theologians  of 
the  last  three  hundred  and  twenty-six  years,  and  put 
your  head  under  the  sleeve  of  the  gown  of  a  sixteenth- 
century  doctor.  "But,"  you  say,  "it  is  the  same  old 
Bible,  and  John  Calvin  had  that  as  well  as  the  present 
student  of  the  Scriptures."  Yes  ;  so  it  is  the  same  old 
sun  in  the  heavens,  but  in  our  time  it  has  gone  to 
making  daguerreotypes  and  photographs.  It  is  the 
same  old  water,  but  in  our  time  it  has  become  a 
lightning-footed  errand  boy.  So  it  is  the  old  Bible, 
but  new  applications,  new  uses,  new  interpretations.' 

Is  the  fact  that  these  creeds  are  '  monumental '  suffi- 
cient reason  for  retaining  them  as  any  thing  but  monu- 
ments of  the  past  ?  In  the  words  of  the  same  preacher, 
—  *  Now  that  the  electric  lights  have  been  turned  on 
the  imperfections  of  the  Westminster  Confession  — 
and  every  thing  that  man  fashions  is  imperfect — let 
us  put  the  old  Creed  respectfully  aside  and  get  a 
brand-new  one.' 

Inconceivably  do  I  long  for  the  ending  of  these 
profitless,  embittering  controversies.  Oh  that  all 
who  love  our  Lord  might  with  one  heart  unite 
in  earnest,  self-sacrificing  efforts  to  send  —  not  the 
gospel  of  man,  but  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  to  every 
creature  under  the  whole  heavens ! 

I  have  been  reading  with  thrilling  interest  a  volume 
by  Dr.  Edmund  H.  Sears,  entitled  The  Fourth 
Gospel,  —  The  Heart  of  Christ.  It  has  helped  me 
in  many  directions,  but  particularly  to  clearer 
views  of  our  divine  Redeemer.  I  cannot  forbear 
copying  a  few  words; — 


456  MARIOX  Gil  AH  AM; 

'When  the  denominations  have  done  with  the 
human  creeds,  and  trust  alike  to  the  Word  made  flesh, 
they  will  meet  together,  not  by  any  compromise  of 
opinions,  but  in  due  course  of  Christian  progress ;  not 
on  any  field  of  past  controversy,  but  on  those  higher 
planes  of  thought  where  the  beams  of  truth,  once 
refracted  and  separated,  are  gathered  and  reunited 
into  one  ray  of  white  light  which  reflects  the  sun  in 
his  original  brightness.  Theologians  are  evanescent 
and  soon  pass  away.  But  the  Word  of  God  remains.' 

When  I  was  in  Leyden,  I  came  across  John  Robin- 
son's farewell  address  to  the  little  company  of  Pilgrims 
setting  sail  in  quest  of  religious  liberty !  With  the 
passage  so  often  quoted,  I  found  other  words  which 
in  these  days  have  the  deepest  significance.  Says  the 
narrator; — 

4  He  charged  us  before  God  and  his  blessed  angels 
to  follow  him  no  further  than  he  followed  Christ,  and 
if  God  should  reveal  any  thing  to  us  by  any  other 
instrument  of  his,  to  be  as  ready  to  receive  it  as  ever 
we  were  to  receive  any  truth  by  his  ministry ;  for  I 
am  confident,'  he  said,  '  that  God  hath  more  truth  yet 
to  break  forth  out  of  His  holy  Word.  I  cannot  suffi- 
ciently bewail  the  condition  of  the  Reformed  Churches 
who  have  come  to  a  period  in  religion,  and  will  go  no 
further  than  the  instruments  of  their  Reformation. 
The  Lutherans  cannot  be  driven  to  go  beyond  Luther; 
for  what  God  hath  revealed  to  Calvin,  they  will  rather 
die  than  embrace  it.  And  the  Calvinists  stick  where 
Calvin  left  them,  a  misery  much  to  be  lamented.  For 
though  they  both  were  shining  lights  in  their  times, 
yet  God  hath  not  revealed  His  whole  will  to  them. 
Remember  now  your  Church  covenant,  whereby  you 


OR,    HIGHER    THAN    HAPPINESS.  457 

engage  with  God  to  receive  whatever  light  shall  be 
made  known  to  you  from  His  Word.  For  it  is  not 
possible,  since  the  Christian  world  is  so  lately  come 
out  of  such  thick  anti-Christian  darkness,  that  full 
perfection  of  knowledge  should  break  forth  at  once.' 


'  Ye  go  to  bear  the  saving  word 

To  tribes  unnamed  and  shores  untrod  ; 
Heed  well  the  lesson:  ye  have  heard 

From  those  old  teachers  taught  of  God. 


Yet  think  not  unto  them  was  lent 
All  light  for  all  the  coming  days. 

And  Heaven's  eternal  wisdom  spent 
In  making  straight  the  ancient  ways. 


The  living  fountain  overflows 
For  every  flock,  for  every  lamb, 

Nor  heeds,  though  angry  creeds  oppose 
With  Luther's  dike  or  Calvin's  dam.' 


Alas  for  human  nature !  The  same  story  is  repeated 
over  and  over  again.  Those  who  get  hold  of  some 
new  phase  of  doctrine  and  claim  the  right  to  be  pro- 
gressive are  shocked  when  later  researches  lead  others 
to  present  still  newer  phases  and  to  claim  a  similar 
right. 

We  seem  to  forget  that  Truth  is  many-sided,  and 
that,  as  any  chance  ray  of  light,  striking  the  diamond, 
causes  now  one  and  then  another  of  its  myriad  facets 
to  glitter  and  glow,  revealing  the  till  then  unsuspected 
gem,  even  so  do  new  flashes  of  light  reveal  to  us  some 
beautiful,  unexpected  phase  in  our  beloved  Truth. 
The  one  essential  point  in  all  our  progress  in  the 


458  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

knowledge  of  Divine  things  is  to  hold  fast  to  the 
grand,  central,  vitalizing  fact,  that  while  man  is  a 
great  sinner,  Jesus  Christ  is  an  infinite  Saviour. 

I  often  find  myself  uttering  this  petition  in  the 
unequalled  church  litany.  'From  all  uncharitable- 
ness,  good  Lord,  deliver  us  ! '  On  the  stormy  arena 
of  polemic  strife,  our  saintly  garments  must  needs 
be  defiled.  Let  us  ascend,  dear  brother,  into  a 
higher  region,  where  we  shall  inhale  the  fragrant 
air  of  heaven  !  No  one  can  deny  Milton's  assertion, 
that  'a  wicked  race  have  taken  the  virgin  Truth, 
and  hewed  her  lovely  form  into  a  thousand  pieces 
and  scattered  them  to  the  four  winds.'  Divine 
Charity  alone  has  the  power  to  gather  them  up, 
and  again  '  to  mould  them  into  an  immortal 
feature  of  loveliness  and  perfection.'  .Then  would 
Christians  of  every  name  be  harmonized,  like  the  pris- 
matic colors  so  '  set  in  the  resplendent  arch  of  glory 
which  spans  the  darkened  heavens,  as  to  betoken  that 
the  wrathful  storms  are  past,  and  to  give  promise  of 
perpetual  peace.'  And  then  would  the  world  be  speed- 
ily redeemed. 

For  my  own  part,  I  belong  to  no  school  save  that  of 
my  Master,  and  I  trust  I  can  say  with  Paul,  'I  am 
determined  to  know  nothing  among  men,  save  Jesus 
Christ  and  Him  crucified.'  To  proclaim  his  unsearcha- 
ble riches  to  my  perishing  fellow-creatures,  is  my  one 
great  desire,  my  highest  and  only  ambition. 

But  I  know  you  wish  to  hear  something  more  per- 
sonal. I  was  glad  to  have  so  many  particulars  con- 
cerning you  both,  from  Miss  Benson.  From  certain 
intimations  in  your  letter,  I  infer  that  you  would  not 
be  sorry  to  have  our  friendship  ripen  into  love.  I  am 


OB,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  469 

free  to  acknowledge  that  I  regard  her  as  one  of  the 
noblest,  most  disinterested  of  women.  But,  for  me, 
there  can  be  no  second  love.  Do  not  let  this  pain  you. 
My  heart  cries  out  to  God,  '  Whom  have  I  in  heaven 
but  thee,  and  there  is  none  upon  earth  that  I  desire  be- 
sides thee.'  And  I  needed  every  pang  I  have  endured 
to  bring  me  here.  My  Redeemer  is  now  my  portion, 
and  in  him  is  an  infinity  which  leaves  nothing  lacking. 
Think  then  of  me  and  of  my  destiny  with  the  satisfac- 
tion with  which  I  think  of  you  both,  and  I  shall  be 
content.  Your  brother  in  affection, 

MAURICE  VINTON." 

As  Marion  sought  to  suppress  the  emotion  awakened 
by  this  letter,  her  husband  kindly  said  to  her, — 

"  Do  not  let  my  presence  be  any  restraint,  for  I  can 
fully  appreciate  your  feelings." 

It  is  not  every  one  who  has  so  fine  an  instinct  as  Mr. 
Sunderland  discovered.  Many  men  in  his  peculiar 
position,  would  never  have  been  able  entirely  to  divest 
themselves  of  disquietude.  But  he  coveted  free  admis- 
sion to  the  innermost  sanctuary  of  that  cherished  heart, 
and  to  gain  this  privilege,  he  must  grant  some  largesses. 
To  have  allowed  her  to  feel  that  he  was  suspicious,  — 
that  he  could  misconceive  her  emotions, — would  have 
been  to  make  her,  on  some  points,  reserved.  But  he 
rightly  interpreted  her  nature,  and  he  had  his  reward. 
Such  generous  confidence,  no  high-minded  woman  will 
ever  betray.  And  how  beautiful  in  wedded  life,  such 
unbounded  trust,  such  full  and  sweet  sympathy,  such 
indissoluble  oneness ! 


460  MARION  GRAHAM; 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

"  How  sweetly  he  implies  her  praise ! 

His  tender  talk,  his  gentle  tone, 
The  manly  worship  in  his  gaze, 
It  nearly  makes  her  heart  his  own." 

"  DEAR  LENORA,  —  We  have  missed  you  sadly,  and 
it  is  our  united  petition  that  you  come  again  to  us 
without  delay.  Very  presuming,  you  will  say.  But 
indulgence  has  made  us  bold,  and  I  know  there  is  noth- 
ing in  your  circumstances  to  confine  you  at  home. 
Henry  began  to  labor  too  soon,  and  is  suffering  in  con- 
sequence. We  are  expecting  to  make  a  little  visit  at 
my  old  home,  hoping  that  he  will  get  recruited.  And 
dear  mother  will  be  very  lonely  unless  you  are  here  to 
keep  her  company.  She  says  Lenora  is  one  of  the 
family. 

I  write  in  haste  in  the  midst  of  sundries.     But  you 
know  my  heart.     Come  next  week  without  fail. 
Affectionately, 

MARION." 

"  MADAM  SUNDERLAND,  —  You  are  fast  assuming 
your  husband's  dictatorial  airs,  the  end  whereof  I  sup- 
pose will  be,  that  I  shall  be  forced  to  yield  to  you  as  I 
always  have  to  him.  Making  a  virtue  of  necessity, 
therefore,  I  submit  without  a  murmur. 

Yours  in  obedience, 

LKXORA." 


Ok,    HIUHKR   THAN    llAl'PINKSS.  4t)l 

On  her  return  to  Carrisford,  Marion  won  her  father's 
consent  to  take  Bessie  home  with  her. 

"  What  wee  fairy  have  you  picked  up  ?  "  asked  Le- 
nora  as  she  ran  to  meet  them. 

Lenora  was  one  of  those  who  have  a  genuine  passion 
for  these  fairies,  and,  as  a  consequence,  gained  their  lov 
almost  at  the  first  glance.  It  was  not,  therefore,  any 
thing  out  of  the  usual  course,  that  after  two  or  three 
days  there  should  be  nobody  in  the  house  like  "  Aunt 
Lenny."  The  high  chair,  procured  purposely  for  "her 
little  ladyship,  must  always  be  by  Lenora's  side ;  in 
short,  they  were  soon  inseparable  friends. 

Mr.  Maynard  had  promised  that  when  he  came  for 
Bessie,  he  would  spend  a  week  at  the  parsonage.  One 
night,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  he  walked  in  just  before 
tea.  Bessie  clapped  her  hands,  and  began  to  jump 
about  for  joy.  Suddenly,  however,  she  led  him  across 
the  room,  and  pointed  to  her  new  friend,  saying,  — 

"  See  my  Aunt  Lenny." 

Such  was  their  only  introduction,  for  though  he 
looked  to  Marion  for  the  name,  she  would  add  nothing 
more,  and  he  was  obliged  to  make  the  best  of  his  small 
amount  of  knowledge.  Tea  being  announced,  a  seat 
was  assigned  him,  opposite  Lenora  and  Bessie. 

"  Bessie  must  sit  by  papa." 

Lenora  began  to  move  the  high  chair. 

"  Bessie  must  sit  by  Aunt  Lenny  too." 

There  was  no  pacifying  her  wee  ladyship,  so,  much 
to  the  disarrangement  of  the  table,  and  the  discomfiture 
of  Lenora,  Mr.  Maynard  was  removed  to  the  other 
side. 

Such  was  the  little  witch's  perpetual  management 
There  was  no  silencing  her,  and  no  resisting  her ;  for 


462  MAttiON   GUAHA.M  : 

papa  and   Lenora  were,  in  ner  esteem,  almost  equally 
dear,  and  neither  would  do  alone. 

"  I  believe  I  shall  have  to  run  away  from  you,  Ma- 
rion." 

"  What  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 
"  That  Bessie  is  such  a  torment ! " 
"  I  thought  you  loved  her  beyond  all  computation." 
"  That  may  be,  too ;  but  she  vexes  me  out  of  all  en- 
durance." 

"  Be  patient.     They  will  return  home  soon." 
"  You  are   very  much  attached  to  Miss    Benson,   I 
see,"  said  Mr.  Maynard  on  a  certain  occasion  to  Ma- 
rion. 

"  To  be  sure  I  am,  and  so  is  Bessie !  " 
"  Is  she  not  a  little  sarcastic  sometimes  ?  " 
"  Yes,  but  with  one  of  the  truest,  best  hearts  I  ever 
knew.'* 

The  week  passed,  and  nothing  was  said  about  re- 
turning. Nor,  although  Bessie  became  more  and  more 
of  a  tormentor,  did  Lenora  see  fit  to  execute  her  threat 
of  leaving.  Another  week  —  and  Mr.  Maynard  still 
lingered.  To  own  the  truth,  his  little  daughter's  favorite 
was  making  sad  havoc  of  his  peace. 

"  Does  Bessie  want  to  go  home  and  see  Judy  ? "  said 
he  one  day  to  his  little  girl  as  she  sat  in  his  lap. 
"  Bessie  can't  go,  unless  papa  take  Aunt  Lenny." 
Lenora  could  have  cried  from  vexation,  the  more  so, 
as,  in  spite  of  herself,  the  blood  mantled  all  over  her 
face.     Taking  a  sly  side  glance  at  her,  "  papa  "  kissed 
the  demure  piece  of  mischief,  looking  so  quietly  up 
into  his  face,  and  said  gravely,  though  not  without  a 
little  tremor  in  his  voice, — 

"  I  fear  we  could  not  make  Aunt  Lenny  happy,  even 
if  we  could  persuade  her  to  go  home  with  us." 


OB,   HIGHLK  THAN    HAPPINESS.  463 

This  was,  of  course,  intended  for  Lenora's  ear,  but 
the  child  caught  its  drift,  and  as  if  she  could  forever 
dispose  of  all  difficulties,  eagerly  exclaimed,  — 

"  Aunt  Lenny  loves  Bessie" 

As  there  was  no  gainsaying  this  fact  on  Lenora's 
part,  and  no  safety  in  pursuing  the  matter  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  prattler,  the  discussion  ended  here.  But  that 
night,  Mr.  Maynard  resolved  to  improve  his  first  chance 
to  ascertain  whether  "  Aunt  Lenny "  would  be  per- 
suaded to  go  home  with  them.  To  resolve,  however, 
was  easier  than  to  execute.  Lenora  was  decidedly  one 
of  the  coy  maidens.  But  there  comes  a  time  when  the 
shyest  must  confront  her  fate,  and  so  it  proved  with  our 
friend. 

After  those  long  years  of  struggling  love  and  sorrow 
it  was  very  sweet  to  her  to  feel  at  liberty  to  expend  the 
affluence  of  her  affectionate  nature.  It  was  still  as  true 
as  it  ever  was,  that  Mr.  Maynard  was  not  quite  Mr. 
Sunderland.  But  he  was  in  every  way  worthy.  And 
then,  —  she  now  beheld  him  through  those  lenses,  which, 
fortunately  for  lovers,  glorify  the  object  of  their  worship. 

Early  the  next  morning,  Marion  stole  to  her  room, 
and,  with  a  quick,  inquiring  glance,  said,  — 

"  I  see  it  all.  You  have  surrendered  your  glorious 
ndependence,  and  are  bound  in  chains  you  can  never 
break.  Ah,  Lenora !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  catch  the  lover-tones  last  night,  as  I  went 
past  the  door  ?  But  better  than  that,  I  can  at  this  mo- 
ment read  the  sweet  dream  in  your  own  eyes.  Why, 
your  whole  countenance  is  transfigured,  dear." 

"  Well,  Marie,  I  must  even  make  the  best  of  my  cap- 
tivity. But  1  am  not  to  be  reproached  for  my  former 


464  MARION  GRAHAM; 

boasting.  I  said  there  was  no  man  who  could  persuade 
me  to  change  my  mind.  Now,  you  must  remember  that 
this  little  puss  has  done  more  than  half  the  mischief. 
But  for  Bessie,  you  would  not  be  glorying  over  me." 

Hearing  her  name,  Bessie  concluded  it  was  time 
to  wake  up,  and  opening  her  bright  eyes,  she  said, — 

"  Aunt  Lenny,  kiss  Bessie." 

"  Mamma  Lenny,  soon,"  whispered  Marion. 

The  child  caught  the  words,  though  not  designed  for 
her  ear,  and  laid  them  up  to  be  brought  forth  on  a  suit- 
able occasion.  This  happened  at  the  breakfast  table, 
when  she  suddenly  turned  to  her  father,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Auntie  say,  Mamma  Lenny  soon." 

The  speech  was  out,  and  there  was  no  help  for  it 
So  while  Lenora  blushed,  and  began  to  talk  to  Marion, 
pretending  not  to  have  heard  Bessie,  her  father  whis- 
pered, — 

"  I  hope  so  ;  but  Bessie  must  eat  her  breakfast  now." 

The  consent  of  Lenora's  parents  was  soon  obtained, 
and  Mr.  Maynard  was  so  persuasively  urgent,  that  the 
bridal  day  was  not  long  deferred. 

Judy,  it  must  be  admitted,  was  "  a  good  deal  agin 
Miss  Benson/'  as  she  insisted  on  calling  her. 

"  But  you  see  how  Bessie  loves  her." 

"  Dat  air's  jes'  de  way  wid  dem  little  ones,  to  forget 
dare  ole  friends,  and  be  mighty  tickled  wid  new  tings." 

When,  however,  she  saw  with  her  own  eyes,  the  evi- 
dent exuberant  affection  that  obtained  between  the  two, 
her  heart  gradually  softened  towards  the  new  comer,  till 
she  was  brought  to  a  full  surrender. 

In  the  society  and  love  of  "  Mamma  Lenny,"  as  Bes- 
sie now  called  her,  Mr.  Maynard  realized  his  fondest 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  465 

expectations,  and  entered  with  fresh  zeal  upon  his  la- 
bors for  his  beloved  flock.  And  Lenora  found  more 
and  more  reason  to  rejoice  in  the  decision  she  had  made. 
All  the  latent  activities  of  her  nature  were  called  into 
action,  and  she  developed  traits  of  character,  which  no 
one  had  supposed  her  to  possess.  Even  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sunderland,  who  had  expected  much,  were  not  prepared 
for  the  golden  opinions  she  won  from  all.  Such  was 
the  potency  of  love. 

"Do  you  think  it  so  very  hard  to  be  a  minister's 
wife  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Maynard. 

"  My  opinion  of  the  station  has  not  changed.  Pray, 
did  you  expect  such  a  wholesale  conversion  ?  " 

"  That  is  an  evasion.  You  know  how  many  mis- 
givings you  expressed.  Now,  do  you  really  find  the 
case  so  bad  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  well  enough  already,  Mr.  Inquisi- 
tor ?  " 

"  But  I  want  to  hear  it  out  of  your  own  mouth." 

"  A  vanity,  which  in  your  profession,  I  think  it  wrong 
to  encourage." 

"Dear  Lenora!  remember  what  a  dreary  waste  I 
have  travelled  through  ! " 

As  he  spoke,  a  sudden  change  passed  over  her  face, 
and  running  her  fingers  caressingly  through  his  hair,  she 
made  answer,  — 

"Well,  if  you  must  be  fed  with  sweetmeats,  mio 
carissimo,  let  me  say  to  you  out  of  an  honest  heart,  that 
I  am  more  happy  as  your  wife  than  my  range  of  Eng- 
lish can  express ;  —  more  happy,  I  sometimes  fear,  than 
is  quite  safe.  Is  my  lord  satisfied  ?  " 

As  he  soon  convinced  her  on  that  point,  she  con- 
tinued,— 


466  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

"  I  used  to  say  hard  things  of  Mr.  Sunderland,  but  I 
believe  you  are  all  alike.  And  if  we,  poor  victims,  will 
plunge  headlong  into  the  gulf  of  matrimony,  there  is 
nothing  remaining  for  us  but  obedience." 

"  Which  the  good  Book  strictly  enjoins." 

"  Yes,  but  please  not  forget  your  part  of  the  ordi- 
nance." 

"  Never,  dearest !  I  even  exceed  the  Gospel  rule,  for 
sure  I  am  that  I  love  my  perverse  little  wife,  far  more 
than  I  do  my  own  self.  So  we  both  are  content,  are 
we  not  ?  " 

And  looking  straight  into  her  midnight  eyes,  he 
found  there  a  sufficient  answer. 


OR.    U10UKU  THAN    llAi'l'l.Nh».  407 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 


"  But  ever  and  anon  of  griefs  subdued 
There  comes  a  token  like  a  scorpion's  sting." 

ALICE  GREEN  was  now  spending  a  few  weeks  with 
Lenora,  although  in  this  she  had  yielded  to  the  evident 
desire  of  Mr.  Vinton,  against  her  own  wishes.  The 
affectionate  child  had  so  endeared  herself  to  him,  that 
it  was  a  trial  to  part  with  her  even  for  a  short  time. 
But  foreseeing  the  pain  she  would  suffer  in  their  final 
separation,  he  felt  that,  for  her  sake,  it  was  best  she 
should  become  gradually  accustomed  to  his  absence. 
It  was  with  a  swelling  heart  that  she  left  him  who  was 
more  to  her  than  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  But  she 
had  been  early  schooled  in  adversity,  and  notwith- 
standing her  impulsive  nature,  possessed  a  degree  of 
self-control  and  thoughtfulness  for  others  quite  beyond 
her  years.  So,  fearing  to  give  pain  to  her  friends,  she 
made  a  great  effort  to  be  cheerful. 

From  Glenwood  she  went  to  Carrisford,  where  Mr. 
Vinton  had  promised  she  should  also  make  a  visit. 

Whether,  by  some  instinct,  she  had  divined  the  past 
history  of  Mr.  Vinton,  or  whether  he  had  briefly  ex- 
plained his  sorrow  to  one  who  so  anxiously  watched 
his  every  look,  we  cannot  determine.  But  at  their  first 
interview,  she  gave  Marion  one  keen,  searching  glance, 
and  then,  throwing  her  arms  round  her  neck,  burst  into 


4b8  MAKIUN  GRAHAM; 

tears.  She  felt  a  little  reserve  with  Mr.  Sunderland,  but 
he  soon  overcame  this,  and  in  a  few  weeks  gained  a 
place  in  her  affections  second  only  to  that  of  her  uncle 
and  Marion.  The  following  is  Mr.  Vinton's  reply  to 
a  letter  from  Alice's  new  Mends  concerning  her. 

"MY  DEAR  BROTHER  AND  SISTER, —  Your  kind  pro- 
posal to  receive  my  little  girl  into  your  beloved  family, 
brought  a  relief  to  my  feelings,  of  which  you  can  poorly 
conceive.  How  dear  she  has  become  to  me,  I  cannot 
well  express  ;  but  the  pain  of  our  approaching  separa- 
tion will  be  softened  to  us  both  by  your  cordial  affection 
for  her.  That  this  might  be  so  has  been  my  long-cher- 
ished wish,  and  my  warmest  gratitude  is  due  to  Him 
who  has  thus  inclined  your  hearts. 

Yours,  in  the  best  of  bonds, 

MAURICE  VINTON." 

Unheeding  whether  he  brought  joy  or  sorrow,  old 
father  Time  marched  steadily  on.  Fickle  April  now 
held  sway,  but  smile  or  weep,  it  was  all  the  same  to  the 
household  of  Mr.  Sunderland.  A  dense  cloud,  heavy 
with  a  portending  sorrow,  had  suddenly  obscured  their 
calm  sunshine,  and  upon  every  face  sat  unwonted 
gloom. 

Polly  Somers  continued  softly  to  bustle  about,  but 
ever  and  anon  applied  her  apron  to  her  eyes.  And 
even  the  self-possessed,  sorrow-tried  minister,  walked 
up  and  down  the  study  with  rapid  strides,  seeking  to 
regain  his  self-command  ere  he  again  ventured  into  the 
presence  of  bis  suffering  wife.  At  length  his  mother 
softly  opened  the  door. 

"  Henry,  you  have  a  son !  " 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  469 

"  And  Marion  ?  "  asked  he,  in  a  scarcely  audible 
tone. 

She  sorrowfully  shook  her  head. 

"Not  dead?" 

"  No,  God  be  thanked !  Yet  she  seems  very  near 
the  end  of  her  journey." 

"  Mother,  how  can  I  have  it  so  ?  " 

"  *  It  is  the  Lord ;  let  him  do  what  seemeth  him 
good.'  But  we  will  pray  and  hope  while  we  can." 

For  three  long  days  and  nights,  the  grim  shadow  of 
death  lingered  on  that  sunny  threshold.  Indeed  to 
look  upon  the  sufferer,  one  would  have  said  that  the 
spirit  had  already  departed, —  so  death-like  was  the 
pallor  of  her  face,  so  still  she  lay,  without  motion  — 
without  sound  —  almost  without  breath. 

But  the  good  Lord,  with  whom  are  infinite  compas- 
sions, heard  their  importuning  cries,  and  from  the  bor- 
ders of  the  spirit-world,  Marion  returned  again  to  her 
husband's  arms.  When  the  light  of  those  dear  eyes 
once  more  shone  into  his  heart,  —  then,  and  not  till 
then,  did  he  taste  the  outgushing  joy  of  a  father.  Clasp- 
ing in  his  own,  the  almost  transparent  hand  of  the 
mother,  and  laying  his  face  close  to  that  round,  tiny 
face,  he  felt  that  the  humanity  in  him  was  completed, 
—  that  the  last  precious  link  had  riveted  the  other  links 
into  a  pure,  golden,  perfected  circlet 

The  month  of  blossoms  had  nearly  completed  her 
welcome  round,  when  Henry  came  one  day  into  the 
chamber,  with  an  offering  of  wild  flowers.  Placing 
the  vase  upon  the  table,  he  seated  himself  beside  Ma- 
rion, and  gave  her  a  look  containing  a  whole  world  of 
affection. 

"  Have  I  done  any  thing  particularly  good  to  deserve 
21* 


470  MABION  GRAHAM; 

all  that  ?  "  she  asked,  while  a  soft  color  stole  oVer  her 
cheek. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  this  time  one  year  ago,  when  we 
hardly  exchanged  words.  What  a  dreary,  burning  des- 
ert that !  And  what  an  Elysium  this !  " 

Then,  looking  at  the  fairy  boy,  now  one  month  old, 
lying  asleep  in  his  mother's  arms,  he  continued  — "  I 
haVe  a  request  to  make,  Marion." 

"  Say  on." 

"  May  I  name  our  darling  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  though  I  considered  that  matter  settled." 

"  We  may  differ  perhaps." 

"  What  name  do  you  propose  ?  " 

"  Maurice  Vinton." 

A  quick  flush  overspread  her  face,  but  her  clear, 
truthful  eyes  did  not  shrink  from  his. 

"  Do  you  really  choose  that  name  ?  " 

"  I  do  really  choose  it" 

It  was  a  grateful  token  of  his  confidence  in  her,  as 
well  as  of  his  high  respect  for  Maurice.  And  had  she 
not  been  already  won,  his  generosity  would  have  com- 
pleted the  conquest.  A  tear  stood  in  her  eye,  as  she 
said  fervently,  — 

"  God  bless  you,  dearest  and  best !  My  heart  is  more 
than  satisfied:' 

"  I  believe  I  told  you,"  said  Henry,  at  length  breaking 
the  sweet  hush  which  followed  those  words,  "  that  Mau- 
rice is  to  be  ordained  early  next  month.  He  has  prom- 
ised to  spend  the  Sabbath  after  with  us,  and  he  shall 
then  baptize  our  child." 

The  anticipated  holy  day  da\vned  in  serene  beauty. 
The  deep  blue  heavens  looked  lovingly  down  upon  the 
verdant  earth,  with  its  umbrageous  trees  and  its  myriads 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  471 

of  starry  flowers  ;  and  the  green  earth,  sending  back  a  ra- 
diant smile  to  the  heavens,  flung  thitherward  her  broad, 
flower-perfumed  censer.  Glad  to  escape  firom  the  close 
city  atmosphere  with  all  its  noisy  din,  the  balmy  air 
and  quiet  hush  of  nature  infused  a  genial  influence  into 
Maurice's  whole  being. 

After  public  service,  the  family  were  gathered  for  the 
baptism.  Maurice  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  the  son 
would  be  called  for  his  father,  and  when  the  name  was 
announced,  for  a  moment  he  could  not  speak.  After 
the  solemn  rite  was  over,  he  took  the  child  in  his  arms, 
tenderly  kissed  it,  and  then  hastened  from  the  room. 
But  he  soon  returned  with  an  unclouded  face. 

As  for  Alice,  she  was  overjoyed  that  the  baby  bore 
the  name  of  her  dearest  friend. 

"  How  I  shall  love  him,  Uncle  Maurice !  why  he  is 
almost  my  little  brother ! " 

He  only  replied  by  gently  stroking  her  head. 

In  three  months  Maurice  was  to  sail,  and  they  were 
busy  months.  Besides  all  his  arrangements  for  a  life- 
time in  a  foreign  land,  his  large  estate  was  to  be  dis- 
posed of.  Reserving  a  moderate  allowance  for  himself, 
for  he  was  to  bear  his  own  expenses,  he  made  hand- 
some legacies  to  Bessie  Maynard  and  his  baby  name- 
sake, not  forgetting  little  Marion  McKinstry.  He  also 
appropriated  a  large  sum  to  the  founding  of  an  orphan 
asylum,  besides  distributing  generous  donations  among 
various  benevolent  association*.  The  remainder  of  his 
property  he  settled  upon  his  adopted  child. 

In  his  last  visit  to  Leyden,  the  only  spot  on  earth 
which  he  could  call  home,  not  only  Alice,  but  Henry 
and  Marion  Sunderland,  with  little  Morry,  accompanied 


472  MARION  GKAHAM  ; 

him.  Two  or  three  days  after  their  arrival,  Maurice 
sat  in  the  library  with  Alice,  who  had  been  expressing, 
in  the  most  enthusiastic  terms,  her  admiration  of  the 
place. 

"  How  delightful  it  would  be  if  we  could  live  here 
always !  I  should  be  your  little  housekeeper,  you  know, 
and  our  friends  could  visit  us,  and  we  should  be  so 
happy!" 

"  You  shah1  live  here  if  you  like,  dear  child.  The  house 
and  every  thing  it  contains,  and  these  grounds,  which 
you  think  so  beautiful,  are  all  yours." 

She  looked  at  him  in  bewilderment. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say,  dear." 

As  she  slowly  comprehended  him,  her  bright  young 
face  assumed  a  sadder  and  sadder  expression,  till  at 
length  large  drops  began  to  fall  from  her  eyes. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  love  ?  •"  tenderly  inquired 
Maurice.  , 

In  a  broken  voice,  she  answered,  — 

"  I  see  you  don't  mean  to  let  me  come  to  China.  And 
I  can't  bear  it.  I  don't  want  this  great  house.  I  had 
rather  live  with  you  in  a  hovel,  and  help  you  talk  to  the 
heathen  about  Jesus,  than  to  have  every  thing  else  you 
could  give  me.  Please  to  take  back  your  great  pres- 
ent. You  don't  know  how  unhappy  it  makes  me." 

He  pressed  the  sweet  child  to  his  heart,  saying,  — 

"  You  could  not  surely  think  I  would  break  my  word, 
darling ;  but  to  comfort  you,  I  will  promise  again  that,  if 
when  you  are  of  age,  God  still  inclines  your  heart  to 
the  missionary  life,  you  shall  certainly  come  out  and 
help  me." 

"  Then  you  will  take  back  this  place." 

u  I  cannot  do  that,  Alice,  foi  if  our  Father  should 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  473 

call  me  home  before  that  time,  you  might  wish  to  live 
here." 

He  spoke  with  great  gentleness,  but  regretted  it  the 
moment  the  words  had  escaped  him,  so  wild  was  the 
grief  which  they  caused  that  sensitive  spirit.  When  she 
was  somewhat  calmed,  he  suggested,  — 

"  You  can  give  the  place  to  little  Morry,  when  you 
come  to  China." 

"  I  should  like  that,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  up 
through  her  tears.  "And  dear  Morry  ought  to  have  it." 

"  You  have  made  peace  with  me  then  ?  " 

"  Darling  uncle !  "  said  she  throwing  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  "  you  are  always  so  patient,  and  so  very 
kind!" 

One  day,  when  Maurice  was  coming  in  at  the  front 
door,  Alice  ran  to  meet  him,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Please,  dear  uncle,  come  here,  and  tell  me  what 
this  is."  And  taking  his  hand,  she  led  him  rapidly 
through  the  library  into  a  large  closet  at  its  further  end, 
and  pointed  to  something  standing  in  a  case,  which  she 
had  ventured  partly  to  open. 

"  That  is  a  guitar,"  replied  he,  quickly  closing  the 
door.  Then  leaving  her  abruptly,  he  went  to  his  own 
room,  where  Alice  could  hear  him  walking  back  and 
forth.  The  poor  child  felt  assured  that  in  some  way 
she  had  given  him  pain,  and  was  very  unhappy  about 
it.  But  she  had  too  much  delicacy  to  intrude  into  his 
presence,  so  she  could  only  wait  till  he  gave  her  an 
opportunity  to  express  her  regret. 

At  the  sight  of  that  well-known  instrument,  a  sharp 
pang  had  shot  through  Maurice.  Never,  since  his  avowal 
of  love  and  his  bitter  parting  from  Marion,  had  he 


474  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

touched  its  chords.  It  had  been  forwarded  with  other 
things  from  Glenwood,  and  since  he  went  abroad,  he 
had  not  only  shunned  the  sight  and  sound  of  a  guitar, 
but  had  entirely  abandoned  singing.  And  now  a  world 
of  memories  besieged  him,  and  it  was  no  easy  task  to 
quell  their  contending  voices. 

After  tea,  he  invited  Alice  to  walk  with  him  through 
the  grounds. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  did  any  thing  to  trouble  you,  dear 
uncle." 

"  And  I  am  sorry  I  grieved  you  by  my  abruptness. 
But  now,  you  can  ask  any  thing  you  please."  As  she 
hesitated,  he  continued,  "  Did  you  never  hear  your 
aunt  Marion  play  on  the  guitar  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  even  know  she  had  one." 

"  Memory,  with  her,  too,  I  fear,"  said  he  to  himself. 
Then  speaking  aloud,  "  Come,  Alice,  I  know  you  have 
some  curiosity  carefully  hidden  away." 

"  Won't  my  questions  trouble  you  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  my  child." 

"  Then  I  should  so  much  like  to  know  whether  you 
can  sing  and  play  on  that  instrument." 

"  If  I  have  not  forgotten." 

"  And  will  you  carry  your  guitar  to  China  ?  " 

"Do  you  wish  it?" 

"Oh  yes!  so  much!" 

"  Then  I  will,  dear." 

She  clapped  her  hands,  and  then  continued  with 
some  timidity,  "  Do  you  think  Aunt  Marion  will  teach 
me  to  play  ?  " 

"  I  will  ask  her,  and  you  shall  have  a  guitar  of  your 
own." 

The  little  girl  looked  the  thanks  she  could  not  utter, 
but  something  was  still  wanting. 


OR,  HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  475 

"  I  see  another  request  in  your  eyes,  birdie.  Just  make 
it  known,  and  it  shall  be  granted." 

"  Then  will  you  play  and  sing  for  me  ?  " 

How  did  those  eyes  dance  with  joy  when  he  re- 
plied, — 

"I  thought  that  was  coming.  Yes,  dear,  this  min- 
ute." 

Passing  through  the  hall  into  the  side-door  of  the 
library,  he  took  the  familiar  instrument  out  of  its  case, 
and  withdrew  with  her  into  one  of  the  large  bay  win- 
dows, neither  of  them  observing  in  the  gathering  twi- 
light that  Marion  sat  in  a  similar  alcove.  With  a 
beating  heart,  she  heard  Maurice  tune  the  guitar,  and 
then  commence  a  gentle  prelude.  To  escape  from  her 
increasing  emotion  she  would  have  left  the  room,  but 
she  feared  to  attract  observation.  So  she  remained,  the 
tide  of  memory  swelling  higher  and  higher.  Alice  sat 
at  Maurice's  feet,  looking  and  listening  with  rapt  atten- 
tion while  he  sang  —  ah  !  it  was  a  dangerous  experi- 
ment —  that  song  of  other  days,  —  "  Oft  in  the  Stilly 
Night." 

The  sound  of  suppressed  sobs  broke  the  silence  which 
followed,  and  first  made  Maurice  aware  of  another's 
presence.  Bidding  Alice  leave  the  room,  he  walked 
towards  Marion,  and,  struggling  with  his  own  emotions, 
sat  down  beside  her. 

"  In  heaven,  my  sister,  memory  will  never  bring  us 
pain." 

"  Nor  will  thoughts  of  the  future,"  responded  she, 
when  she  could  speak.  "  That  you  are  to  go  alone  on 
your  missionary  life,  is  a  grief  to  me  which  I  cannot  ex- 
press." 

Maurice  did  not  venture  a  reply.     The  plaintive  mil- 


476  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

sic,  burdened  with  sad  recollections,  Marion's  presence, 
and  the  mutual  rush  of  thought  and  feeling,  —  all  these 
together  came  upon  him  when  he  believed  himself 
strong  to  endure,  and  found  him  —  but  a  man.  Lean- 
ing his  head  upon  a  chair,  he  tried  in  vain  to  stem 
the  swift  current.  There  was  no  safety  for  him  then, 
but  in  retreating. 

"  I  am  not  well  to-night,"  said  he,  rising  suddenly. 
"  I  will  see  you  again  to-morrow." 

"  Marion  is  in  the  library,"  he  observed  to  Mr.  Sun- 
derland  as  he  met  him  in  the  hall. 

Opening  the  door,  Henry  was  in  a  moment  at  hei 
side. 

"  My  dear  wife  in  tears  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  heard  Maurice  sing  and  play  before, 
since  those  old  times  ;  and  it  recalls  so  many  sad  asso- 
ciations." 

He  drew  her  to  himself,  and  soothed  her  with  gentle 
caresses. 

"  You  understand  me,  I  trust,  dear  Henry." 

"  I  do,  rny  own  Marion,  and  confide  in  you  implicitly, 
unwaveringly." 

"  I  am  not  ungrateful  for  your  confidence.  But  why 
have  you  never  asked  me  to  play  ?  " 

"  Because  I  feared  it  might  give  you  pain." 

"  Delicate  and  generous  as  always ! "  said  she,  laying 
her  hand  in  his.  And  as  they  sat  there  in  the  deepen- 
ing twilight,  no  forbidden  thought  on  her  part,  —  no 
unworthy  suspicion  on  his,  marred  their  communion. 

In  the  mean  time,  Maurice  was  walking  back  and 
forth  on  the  shores  of  the  lake.  The  spell  of  music  had 
evoked  the  dead  from  the  tomb  of  memory,  while  the 
sympathetic  emotion  of  Marion  caused  the  saddest  re» 


OR,    HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS.  477 

membrances  to  press  upon  him  with  a  torturing  power. 
Not  for  the  wealth  of  the  Indies,  would  he  have  her  or 
her  husband  know  aught  of  this  renewed  struggle  with 
the  great  sorrow  of  his  life.  Pausing  suddenly  in 
his  rapid  strides,  he  seated  himself  on  a  rock,  and  re- 
called that  scene  of  long  ago,  when,  on  those  same 
shores,  a  fierce  storm  had  raged  unheeded  around  him, 
while  he  had  battled  with  a  wilder  tempest  in  his  own 
bosom.  As  a  deep  sigh  broke  from  him,  he  heard  light 
footsteps,  and  in  a  moment,  Alice  knelt  on  the  sand,  and 
laid  her  head  in  his  lap,  while  heavy  sobs  escaped  her. 

"  What  is  it,  Alice  ?  " 

"  O  my  dear,  dear  uncle,  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to 
know  you  are  so  unhappy.  And  I  can  do  nothing1  to 
comfort  you,"  added  she,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  Not  so,  precious  one,"  replied  he,  drawing  her  into 
his  lap.  "  Your  affection  is  an  unspeakable  comfort." 

"  Is  it  truly  ?  But,  then,  why  cannot  I  love  away  all 
your  sorrow  ?  " 

He  laid  his  hot  cheek  against  her  golden  curls,  softly 
whispering, — 

"  God  bless  you,  darling,  and  save  your  affectionate 
heart  from  pain  !  " 

"But  I  don't  want  to  be  saved  from  it,"  exclaimed 
she  impetuously.  "  I  had  rather  suffer  when  you  suffer. 
And  oh  ! "  —  added  she,  kissing  away  a  tear  which  had 
dropped  on  his  hand,  for  he  was  melted  from  his  stern 
mood  by  her  tenderness, —  "  I  think  I  am  strong  enough 
to  bear  a  great  deal  of  pain,  and  of  any  kind,  if  it  could 
only  make  you  happy." 

"  Sweet  ministering  angel !  "  said  he  to  himself,  as  he 
folded  her  to  his  heart.  Then,  speaking  aloud,  «  You 
know,  dear,  that  the  wise  Book,  which  never  mistakes, 


478  MARION   GRAHAM  ; 

says,  '  It  is  good  to  be  afflicted,'  so  you  must  not  wish 
to  have  me  free  from  suffering." 

"  But  you  prayed  that  God  would  keep  my  heart 
from  pain.  Why  is  it  not  good  for  me  to  be  af- 
flicted, as  well  as  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  right,  and  we  will  both  ask  God  to  send 
just  what  he  sees  best.  And  believe  me,  child ;  —  my 
Father  has  made  up  to  me  in  '  that  peace  which  pass- 
eth  all  understanding,'  infinitely  more  than  he  has  taken 
from  me  of  earthly  happiness." 

"  But  don't  you  think  that  he  will  make  you  happy 
too,  even  in  this  world  ?  " 

"  He  will  do  every  thing  exactly  right,  my  pet.  And  1 
am  sure  he  will  give  me  great  delight  in  trying  to  tell 
poor  sinners  of  his  wonderful  love." 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  she,  in  a  tone  of  relief.  "  And  you 
know  when  I  come  and  help  you  talk  to  them,  you  will 
go  home  every  day  to  rest ;  and  I  shall  always  be  there 
to  get  your  supper,  and  to  take  good  care  of  you." 

"  So  be  it,  my  own  Alice,"  replied  he,  greatly  moved 
"  But  now,  dear,  you  must  run  back  to  the  house." 

"  Do  you  feel  a  little  better  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal  better  for  your  visit,  precious  one ! " 
and  he  watched  her  retreating  figure  as  it  slowly  wound 
among  the  rocks. 

"  And  thus  He  sends  an  angel  to  strengthen  me," 
said  Maurice,  folding  his  arms  musingly  across  his 
breast.  "  Could  I  love  her  more,  if  she  were  my  own 
child?" 

The  spell  of  memory  was  broken,  and  he  no  longer 
wrestled  with  the  phantoms  of  the  past.  He  had  well 
known  where  was  to  be  found  the  sweetness  of  con- 
solation. And  he  would  not  have  rested  till  he  had 


OB,    H1UHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  479 

reached  that  dear  retreat.     But  the  child,  dispelling  the 
ghosts  of  memory,  by  a  shorter  road  had  led  him  thither. 
And  so  ended  his  last  conflict  with  that  one  over- 
mastering earthly  passion! 


"  I  was  unable,  yesterday,"  he  said  to  Marion  the  next 
morning,  "  to  reply  to  your  kind  expressions  of  sympa- 
thy in  my  prospective  lonely  life.  But  why  should  I 
speak  of  it  as  lonely,  when  my  Saviour  accompanies  me 
in  my  wanderings,  and  has  pledged  himself  never  to 
leave  nor  forsake  me  ?  It  is  true  that  unbidden  memo- 
ries have  at  times  inflicted  a  sudden  pang,  and,  for  a  brief 
moment,  renewed  the  sharp  conflict ;  yet,  Marion,  I  wish 
you  could  know  how  assured  is  my  confidence  in  the 
wisdom  and  goodness  of  God,  and  how  unwaveringly 
I  rest  in  him  as  my  portion.  The  views  which  he 
sometimes  gives  me  of  himself  are  beyond  language. 
I  seem  bathed  in  a  shoreless  sea  of  love,  and  every  de- 
sire is  satisfied.  And  shall  I  repine  that  he  has  made 
me  a  bankrupt  on  earth,  when  he  has  given  me  heaven, 
aye,  HIMSELF,  as  my  inheritance  ?  " 


480  HAHION   GUAHAAl  ; 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

u  Patience  and  abnegation  of  self,  and  devotion  to  others, 
This  was  the  lesson  a  life  of  trial  and  sorrow  had  taught  him. 
So  was  his  love  diffused,  but,  like  to  some  odorous  spices, 
Suffered  no  waste  nor  loss,  though  filling  the  air  with  aroma. 
Other  hope  had  he  none,  nor  wish  in  life,  but  to  follow 
Meekly  with  reverent  steps,  the  sacred  feet  of  the  Saviour." 

THEIR  last  day  at  Leyden  arrived,  —  a  day  long  sor- 
rowfully anticipated.  In  the  morning,  the  little  circle 
of  friends  took  a  drive  together  on  the  shores  of  the 
sunny  lake.  Their  conversation  was  on  cheerful  sub- 
jects, but  the  subdued  tones  in  which  it  was  carried  on, 
showed  that  the  approaching  separation  was  ever 
present  to  their  thoughts.  On  their  return,  they  again 
met  in  the  library,  all  seeming  instinctively  to  cling  to 
one  another,  as  those  do  who  are  about  to  separate  for 
a  long  time,  perhaps  forever. 

The  weather  was  charming,  and  after  tea,  they  ad- 
journed to  the  veranda  to  watch  the  decline  of  day. 
It  was  a  group  worthy  of  the  limner's  art.  Henry 
Sunderland's  arm  rested  on  the  chair  of  Marion,  whose 
face  was  full  of  sad,  but  elevated  thought,  while  little 
Morry,  in  her  lap,  was  intent  on  his  father's  watch, 
which  he  held  in  both  his  dimpled  hands,  now  and  then 
putting  it  to  his  ear  to  hear  it  talk.  Maurice  Vinton 
sat  next,  with  Alice,  as  usual,  at  his  feet. 

The  sun  lingered  as  if  to  give  the  finishing  touches 


OB,    HIGHER  THAN   HAPPINESS.  481 

to  a  painting  of  unrivalled  magnificence.  The  most 
royal  colors  on  his  palette  were  dashed  on  with  a  bold 
hand  and  a  princely  prodigality.  But  the  artist  rested 
not,  till,  with  this  gorgeous  splendor,  he  had  blended 
the  sweetest,  softest  tints,  toning  down  the  picture  into 
a  resplendent  beauty  and  glory,  suggestive  of  the 
Celestial  Land.  Gleaming  turrets  and  glittering  walls 
and  battlements  were  there.  There,  too,  were  gates  of 
pure  rose-pearl,  just  swung  ajar,  through  which  the  kin- 
dled fancy  caught  faint  glimpses  of  the  golden  streets, 
the  jasper  light,  the  hyaline  sea,  and  almost  of  some 
white-winged  angel  hovering  over  it.  The  whole  scene 
was  reduplicated  in  the  placid  lake  below,  which  was 
scintillant  with  the  most  brilliant  jewels,  scat- 
tered all  over  its  fair  bosom.  And,  as  the  fit  setting  to 
this  breathing,  burning  picture,  was  a  broad  rim  of  rich 
amber  sky,  so  clearly  reflected  in  the  sparkling  waters, 
that  the  whole  glowing  scene  seemed  set  within  that 
fair  frame. 

As  the  little  company  lingered  in  the  spell  of  that 
enchanting  vision,  on  this  the  last  night  of  their  stay,  a 
tender  and  chastened  feeling  was  written  on  every  face. 
And  as  the  gorgeous  Cloud-land  softly  faded  away,  and 
the  fair  landscape  grew  dim  in  the  gray  twilight,  and 
the  solenin  stars  came  out  and  shone  serenely  above 
the  peaceful  lake,  —  that  feeling  deepened  into  a  sacred 
awe.  The  thought  of  the  approaching  separation,  final 
probably  for  this  life,  stole  over  them,  and  the  past,  like 
a  misty  phantasm,  flitted  slowly  by.  Loving  eyes  that 
had  closed  upon  the  light  of  earth,  seemed  looking 
down  upon  them  through  the  dazzling  veil  which  shuts 
out  heaven  from  mortal  ken.  White  hands  that  had 
been  silently  folded  upon  the  pulseless  bosom,  beck- 
oned to  them  from  behind  it. 


482  MARION    GRAHAM  ; 

In  that  solemn  hush,  when  the  past,  the  present,  and 
the  future  were  centred  in  that  one  point  of  time,  the 
Unseen,  Mysterious  Land,  —  always  receding  from  the 
view,  —  drew  near.  The  Dark  River,  stretching  no 
longer  in  the  dim,  uncertain  distance,  seemed  to  wind 
at  their  very  feet.  Almost  they  could  see  — 

"  Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood," 

but  as  they  strain  their  eyes  for  a  clearer  view  of  the 
seraphic  vision,  — 

A  blaze  of  glory  blinds  their  mortal  sense, 
And  like  a  radiant  curtain,  shuts  it  in. 

The  child  had  fallen  asleep  in  his  mother's  arms, 
and  there  reigned  a  silence  which  no  one  felt  like  break- 
ing. But  at  length  Maurice  whispered  to  Alice,  who 
stole  into  the  house  and  brought  out  his  guitar. 

It  seemed  to  all  present,  that  sweeter,  more  ethereal 
notes  never  gushed  from  human  instrument,  than  those 
to  which  they  listened  in  the  holy  hush  of  that  calm 
sunset  hour.  After  a  touching  prelude,  Maurice  sang 
an  exquisite  strain,  tenderly  expressive  of  the  thoughts 
which  filled  their  hearts  no  less  than  his  own. 


'  None  return  from  those  quiet  shores, 

Who  cross  with  the  boatman  cold  and  pale ; 
We  hear  the  dip  of  the  golden  oars, 

And  catch  a  gleam  of  the  snowy  sail,  — 
And  lo !  they  have  passed  from  our  yearning  hearts ; 

They  cross  the  stream,  and  are  gone  for  aye. 
We  may  not  sunder  the  veil  apart, 

That  hides  from  our  rision  the  gates  of  day ; 


OR,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  488 

We  only  know  that  their  barks  no  more 

May  sail  with  us  o'er  life's  stormy  sea ; 
Yet  somewhere,  I  know,  on  the  unseen  shore, 

They  watch,  and  beckon,  and  wait  for  me. 

And  I  sit  and  think,  when  the  sunset's  gold 

Ts  flushing  river  and  hill  and  shore, 
I  shall  one  day  stand  by  the  water  cold, 

And  list  for  the  sound  of  the  boatman's  oar; 
I  shall  watch  for  a  gleam  of  the  flapping  sail ; 

I  shall  hear  the  boat  as  it  gains  the  strand ; 
I  shall  pass  from  sight  with  the  boatman  pale 

To  the  better  shore  of  the  spirit-land ; 
I  shall  know  the  loved  who  have  gone  before, 

And  joyfully  sweet  will  the  meeting  be, 
When  over  the  river,  the  peaceful  river, 

The  Angel  of  Death  shall  carry  me." 

As  his  rich,  mournful  tones  floated  on  the  silent  air, 
—  not  a  heart  present  but  that  beat  quicker  with  emo- 
tion, —  not  an  eye  but  that  glistened  with  humid  ten- 
derness !  It  was  a  fitting  close  to  those  days  of  sweet 
communing.  Its  influence  lingered  with  them,  as,  the 
next  morning,  they  went  their  separate  ways.  It  fol- 
lowed them  in  their  remaining  earthly  life. 

The  day  for  Maurice's  final  departure  was  at  length 
fixed.  As  little  Bessie  Maynard  was  not  quite  well, 
her  father  and  mother  concluded  not  to  go  to  New 
York  as  they  had  intended.  So  Maurice  went  to  Glen- 
wood  instead.  For  the  last  time  he  stood  by  the  graves 
of  his  loved  ones,  and  then  gave  his  parting  benediction 
to  his  friends. 

«  Are  you  sure  ?  "  asked  Lenora,  "  that  in  the  depths 
of  your  heart,  you  have  forgiven  me  the  bitter,  life-long 
trial  I  have  caused  you  ?  " 


484  MARION  GRAHAM; 

"  Very  sure,"  replied  he,  pressing  her  hand,  while  he 
gave  her  one  of  his  sweetest  smiles.  "  Nay,  I  am  your 
debtor,  for  it  has  proved  a  rich  blessing,  and  I  am  more 
than  reconciled." 

"  Uncle,  send  Alice  to  Bessie,"  said  a  lisping  voice 
beside  him. 

"  Yes,  Alice  will  come  soon,"  replied  he,  tenderly 
caressing  his  sainted  sister's  child.  "  God  bless  you,  little 
Bessie,  and  don't  forget  Uncle  Maurice." 

It  was  a  marked  group  that  stood  together  upon  the 
vessel's  deck,  on  that  clear  October  morning.  The  cap- 
tain's loud  commands,  the  sailors'  boisterous  responses, 
the  hoisting  the  sails,  the  drawing  in  the  cable,  and  ah1 
that  bustle  of  preparation  attendant  upon  the  getting  out 
to  sea,  —  fell  upon  the  ears  of  that  silent  company  with- 
out the  smallest  attention.  The  azure  heavens  looked 
down  smilingly  upon  them,  the  soft  sunshine  lay 
around  them  in  mild  splendor,  and  the  blue,  rippling 
waters  danced  gleaming  at  their  feet;  —  but  all  un- 
heeded !  Their  thoughts  were  otherwhere.  Mute  and 
solemn  they  stood,  as  if,  beyond  the  mystical  river, 
they  caught  glimpses  of  the  eternal  shores,  —  as  if  an- 
gels were  beckoning  them  up  the  shining  steeps  to  the 
golden  city  on  high  ! 


At  length  came  the  moment  so  long  thought  of —  so 
long  dreaded ; —  the  moment  of  final  separation.  Tak- 
ing his  little  namesake  in  his  arms,  with  uncovered 
head,  Maurice  offered  up  a  wordless  prayer,  and  having 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  forehead,  gave  him  back  to  his 
nnrse.  He  then  warmly  embraced  Henry  Sunderlandr 


OB,   HIGHER  THAN    HAPPINESS.  4*5 

looking  the  thoughts  he  could  not  speak.  Turning  to 
Marion,  he  held  her  hand  in  a  long  and  silent  pressure, 
with  the  last  warm  grasp  saying  in  tones  which  she 
never  forgot,  —  "  An  eternity  together  in  heaven." 

Lastly,  he  folded  the  poor  weeping  Alice  to  his  heart, 
kissing  her  again  and  again.  It  was  hard  for  him  to 
look  upon  that  sweet  young  face,  so  pale  and  despair- 
ing in  its  woe,  —  hard  to  untwine  those  clinging  arm?, 
—  hard  to  bid  adieu  to  that  loving  and  beloved  child 
who  was  now  his  all  of  earth.  But  there  was  no  re- 
prieve. 

The  last  sacrifice  was  made  —  the  last  farewell  ut- 
tered —  the  last  tear  shed.  Then,  clasping  his  hands, 
and  lifting  his  eyes  to  heaven,  Maurice  pleaded  for 
strength  for  himself,  for  blessings  upon  her  —  upon 
them  all. 

As  Marion  gazed  on  his  face,  radiant  in  its  eleva- 
tion and  self-sacrifice,  it  was  as  if  she  had  looked  on 
the  face  of  an  angel.  Then,  a  scene  from  the  past 
flashed  upon  her  with  startling  vividness ;  —  an  evening 
embalmed  in  memory,  when,  sitting  together  in  her  pleas- 
ant library,  with  the  soft  astral  lamp  shining  upon  them, 
and  the  ruddy  fire-light  sending  out  a  cheerful  glow, 
they  had  read  those  immortal  words  of  Thomas  Carlyle ; 
"  There  is  in  man  a  Higher  than  love  of  happiness ;  he 
can  do  witJiout  happiness,  and  instead  thereof  find  bless- 
edness." 

She  remembered  his  intense  gaze  as  he  asked  her  that 
significant  question,  "  Would  you  immolate  your  dear- 
est wishes,  your  sweetest  hopes,  your  assured  bliss  on 
the  altar  of  some  imagined  duty  1 "  She  recalled  the 
deep  sigh,  and  the  melancholy  glance  that  were  his  re- 
sponse to  her  reply. 


486     MARION   GRAHAM  ;    OR,  HIGHER   THAN    HAPPINESS. 

The  fire  of  earthly  passion  which  had  then  glowed 
in  his  face,  and  thrilled  his  whole  being,  had  faded 
from  his  eye,  and  died  out  of  his  heart.  In  its  place, 
a  sphere  of  celestial  love  encompassed  him,  —  the  light 
of  heaven  shone  in  his  eye, —  and  its  glory  rested  like 
an  aureole  upon  his  brow.  As  she  saw  this,  and  as 
she  thought  of  his  whole-hearted  consecration  to  the 
Saviour  ;  —  of  his  sublime  victory  over  sorrow  and  over 
self,  she  felt  that  he  had  indeed  won  the  nobler  gift ; 
—  that  he  had  attained  the  more  glorious  end ;  —  that 

INSTEAD    OF   HAPPINESS,  HE   HAD  FOUND  BLESSEDNESS. 


A   WOMAN'S    INHERITANCE. 

"  Miss  Douglas's  Novels  are  all  worth  reading,  and  this  is  one  full  of 
suggestions,  interesting  situations,  and  bright  dialogue."—  Cottage  Heart*. 

OUT  OF  THE  WRECK;  or,  Wa.  it  a  Victory? 
"  Bright  and  entertaining  as  Mies  Douglas's  stories  always  are,  this, 
ber  new  one,  leads  them  alL"  —  Xtw  Bedford  Standard.      ' 

FLOYD    GRANDON*S    HONOR. 
«•  Fascinating  throughout,  and  worthy  of  the  reputation  of  the  author." 

WHOM    KATHIE    MARRIED. 

Kathie  was  the  heroine  of  the  popular  series  of  Kathie  Stories  for 
foang  people,  the  readers  of  which  were  very  anxious  to  know  with 
whom  KaUiie  settled  down  in  life.  Hence  thu  story,  charmingly  written. 

LOST    IN    A    GREAT  CITY. 

"  There  are  the  power  of  delineation  and  robustness  of  expression  that 
would  credit  a  masculine  hand  in  the  present  volume. 

THE    OLD   WOMAN   WHO   LIVED    IN    A    SHOE. 
"  The  romances  of  Miss  Douglas's  creation  are  all  thriilingly  interest- 
Ing." — Cambridge  Tribune. 

HOPE    MILLS;  or,  Between  Friend  and  Sweetheart. 
"  A""«"d*  Douglas  is  one  of  the  favorite  authors  of  American  novel- 
reader*."  —  Jfanc/itttfr  Mirror. 

FROM    HAND    TO    MOUTH. 

"  There  is  real  satisfaction  in  reading  this  book,  from  the  fact  that  we 
can  so  readily  '  take  it  home '  to  ourselves."  —  Portland  Argtu. 

NELLY    KINNARD'S    KINGDOM. 

"  The  Hartford  Religious  Herald  "  says,  •*  This  story  is  so  fascinating, 
that  one  can  hardly  lay  it  down  after  taking  it  op." 

IN   TRUST;  or,  Dr.  Bertrand's  Household. 
"  She  writes  in  a  free,  fresh  and  natural  way,  and  ber  characters  ar» 
never  overdrawn." — Manchester  Mirror. 

CLAUDIA. 

"  The  plot  is  very  dramatic,  and  the  dfnou'mtnt  startling.    Claudia,  UM 
heroine,  is  one  of  those  self-sacrificing  characters  which  it  is  the  glory  of 
the  female  sex  to  produce."  —  Boston  Journal. 
STEPHEN    DANE. 

"  This  is  one  of  this  author's  happiest  and  most  successful  attempts  at 
novel- writing,  for  which  a  grateful  public  will  applaud  her."  —  llerald. 

HOME    NOOK;  or.  The  Crown  of  Doty. 

"  An  interesting  story  of  home-life,  not  wanting  in  incident,  and  writ- 
ten  in  forcible  and  attractive  style."  —  .YVir  York  Graphic. 

SYDNIE    ADRIANCE;  or,  Trying  the  World. 
"  The  works  of  Visa  Douglas  have  stood  the  test  of  popular  judgment, 
and  become  the  fashion.  , 

SEVEN    DAUGHTERS. 

The  charm  of  the  story  is  the  perfectly  natural  and  home-like  air  which 
pervades  it. 

THE   FORTUNES  OF  THE  FARADAYS 
"  Of  unexceptionable  literary  merit,  deeply  interesting  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  plot."  —  Fall  River  Next. 

FOES  OF   HER  HOUSEHOLD 
"  Foil  of  interest  from  the  first  chapter  to  the  end." 

A  MODERN  ADAM  AND  EVE  IN  A  GARDEN 

"  It  la  a  good  norel,  not  only  for  adc  lu,  but  young  folk*  as  well." 


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A    BOSTON    GIPL'S    AMBITIONS 

"  There  is  nothing  of  the  '  sensational,'  or  so-called  realistic  school,  in 
aer  writings.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  noted  for  their  healthy  moral 
lone  and  pure  sentiment,  and  yet  are  not  wanting  in  STRIKING  SITUA- 
TIONS J.KD  DRAMATIC  INCIDENTS."  —  Chicago  Joiimitl. 

BUT    A    PHILISTINE 

"The  moral  lessons,  the  true  life  principles  taught  in  this  book,  render 
ft  one  which  it  is  a  pleasure  to  recommend  for  its  stimulating  influence 
upon  the  higher  nature.    Its  literary  quality  is  line." 
LENOX    DARE 

'•  Among  the  best  of  her  productions  we  place  the  volume  here  under 
notice.  In  temper  and  tone  the  work  is  calculated  to  exert  a  healthful 
and  elevating  influence,  and  tends  to  bring  the  reader  into  more  intimate 
sympathy  with  what  is  most  pure  and  noble  in  our  nature."  — New-Eng. 
land  Methodist. 

DARYLL    GAP;    or,   Whether  it   Paid 

"  A  story  of  the  petroleum  days,  and  of  a  family  who  struck  oil.     Her 
plots  are  well  arranged,  and   her  characters  are  clearly  and   strongly 
*'ravin."  —  Pittsburg  'Recorder. 
A    WOMAN'S    WORD,    AND    HOW    SHE    KEPT    IT 

''The  celebrity  of  Virginia  F.  Townsend  as  an  authoress,  her  brilliant 
jesc.iptive  powers,  and  pure,  vigorous  Imagination,  will  insure  a  hearty 
welcome  for  the  above-entitled  volume  in  the  writer's  happiest  vein."  — 
Fashion  Quarterly. 

THAT    QUEER    GIRL 

"  A  fresh,  wholesome  book  about  good  men  and  good  women,  bright 

»nd  cheery  in  style,  and  pure  in  morals.    Just  the  book  to  take  a  young 

girl's  fancy,  and  help  her  to  grow  up,  like  Madeline  and  Argia,  into  the 

nveetuess  of  real  girlhood."  —  People's  Monthly. 

ONLY    GIRLS 

"  This  volume  shows  how  two  persons,  '  only  girte,'  saved  two  men 
trom  crime,  even  from  ruin  of  body  and  soul.  The  story  is  ingenious  and 
graphic,  and  kept  the  writer  of  this  notice  up  far  into  the  small  hours  of 
yesterday  morning." —  Washington  Chronicle. 


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THE  DEERINGS  OF  MEDBURY 

THE  MILLS  OF  TUXBURY 

"  There  is  a  fascination  about  the  stories  of  Miss  Towneend  that  gives 
them  a  firm  hold  upon  the  public,  their  chief  charm  being  their  simplicity 
*nd  fidelity  to  nature."  —  Commonwealth. 

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